Fugue
by highlands girl
Summary: Ranger returns from a long mission and finds that Stephanie is ... different. BABE HEA.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: JE owns nearly all of these characters. I'm just having fun.**

**A/N: Thanks to latetolove who is the most patient, encouraging beta in the world. All mistakes are mine.**

**Big hugs to Margaret Fowler who gave me an idea that turned into this story.**

**If you like it, check back on Monday. I'll post updates on Monday and Thursday. Thanks for reading.**

Chapter One

_Ranger's POV_

It was almost midnight when our plane touched down at the private airfield near Trenton. Two weeks. That's all this mission was supposed to take. Instead, thanks to bad intel and an inexperienced, multinational team, I'd spent most of the last four months freezing my ass off in mountain villages all over Kazakhstan. Coldest fucking winter in the last 20 years. It would be an even colder day in hell before I'd accept another job with the U.S.-European Union Joint Task Force on Security.

I glanced across the aisle at my traveling companion. A warrior descended from warriors, Bear had been the one bright spot on this mission. From generations of Mongol ancestors, he had inherited his strong cheekbones, his golden skin and his sleek black hair, currently pulled back in a high, Samurai-style ponytail. Ostensibly, his startling blue eyes were a legacy from his Swedish mother, although it was rumored that Genghis Khan had blue eyes, too. Given Bear's ruthlessness in battle, I had no trouble believing that the blood of the Mongol warlord ran in his veins.

Perhaps his skill as a strategist was another legacy from this distant grandfather … or perhaps not. Bear's father was a warrior of a different sort, a conqueror on the battlefield of corporate takeovers. The spoils of his victories had afforded Bear an education in the best schools of Europe. He had a degree in military engineering from the Ecole Polytechnique in France, as well as degrees in economics and criminology from Cambridge. Exactly where Bear had mastered the use of dagger and bow was a bit less clear, but I had reason to appreciate those skills on this trip.

Bear glanced up from his iPad and met my gaze. The stock market in London wouldn't open for another few hours but it was the middle of the business day in Japan. "The Nikkei opened up 30 points," he said with a faint grin.

Undoubtedly, there would to be hell to pay next week. I had three days with handlers from the EU at the hospital in Ankara, Turkey. The U.S. team was demanding equal time and was insistent that I return directly to DC for a debriefing. If this had been a typical deployment, we would be landing at the airfield at Andrews tonight. But this time, I was a civilian contractor. As such, my attorney had been able to successfully argue that I was entitled to 3 days off in Trenton to attend to my business and pressing personal matters. The personal matters were top of mind tonight.

Two black vehicles were waiting for us on the tarmac. "Vince. Binkie." I jerked my head toward my companion by way of introduction. "Bear. New man on the Miami team." I explained. Bear nodded almost imperceptibly in greeting.

"Take Bear to Haywood. I have a stop to make."

Vince cleared his throat. "Tank suggested that you return with us. There is a …" he trailed off as if uncertain what to say next. "A situation he needs to discuss with you."

"Screw Tank," I said. "Give me the keys to the Turbo."

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into Stephanie's parking lot and noticed that all the lights were off in her apartment. That wasn't too unusual for this time of night. I surveyed the lot, wondering about her current vehicle. When I'd left, she'd been driving a faded, red Monte Carlo with a black racing stripe down the side. I didn't see it in the parking lot, but four months was long time for Steph to keep a car. With some satisfaction, I noted the absence of Morelli's SUV and the POS unmarked cop car he sometimes drove.

I took the steps to the third floor and waited outside her door, listening. Hearing nothing, it took me 30 seconds to pick the lock and step into her foyer. Again, silence. Not even the faint sounds of Rex shuffling though the pine shavings lining his cage on the kitchen counter.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed an even layer of dust over the counter in the kitchen and the coffee table in the living room. Housekeeping wasn't Stephanie's strong suit, but it was clear that no one had lived in this apartment for at least several weeks.

I dialed Tank before I reached the parking lot. "Location on Stephanie," I demanded.

"Welcome home, RangeMan."

"Location, Tank. That's an order."

"I'll remind you that I'm in charge while you're on the government's payroll and technically, you still are until you finish the debriefing," he answered mildly.

"How long," I demanded.

"Did Vince tell you that I wanted you to come back to Haywood?

I ignored his question, repeating my own. "How long has she been back with Morelli?"

"She's not back with Morelli.

"Then where the hell is she, Tank?" Scenarios that did not involve Morelli began to run through my head, scenarios that involved stalkers and exploding Chevrolets.

"She's safe," Tank answered. "If you come back to Haywood, you can see for yourself. But there a few things you need to understand first.

Ten minutes later, I pulled the Turbo into the garage on Haywood and parked in the empty spot closest to the elevator. Vaguely, I registered that there were two empty spots where I kept my personal vehicles. I made a mental note to ask Tank what happened to the Cayenne, but we had other things to discuss first.

When I reached Tank's office on the 5th floor, he was standing beside his desk, quietly conversing with Bear. "Ranger," he said, giving me a slight nod in greeting. "We're almost finished. Give us a minute, and I'll brief you on the developments here."

But he never got the chance. At that moment, I heard a sound, a squeal really, from behind me and I turned to face the door.

"Carlos!" I heard Steph's voice moments before she launched herself into my arms, rocking me back on my heels. I had only a moment to be surprised at her unexpected use of my given name. That was quickly replaced by surprise at the softness of her lips against mine, the gentle insistence of her tongue just before it slipped into my mouth. The disquiet that I had been feeling since leaving Stephanie's apartment was quickly replaced by relief. Relief accompanied by a tidal wave of unadulterated desire. It wasn't that I was unaware of my surroundings. At that moment, I just decided to hell with the fact that we were standing in Tank's office. I kissed her back.

Stephanie's legs were wrapped around my waist and her hands were fisted in my hair. I slipped one arm under her ass to steady her and with the other hand, I stroked her back gently. That's how I found the gun tucked in the waistband of her cargos. "Were you out on surveillance tonight, Babe?" I murmured against her lips.

"Takedown," she replied between kisses. "Gary Wathen. Drug possession and illegal sale of firearms. Out on $200,00 bond." She pressed her pelvis firmly against mine. "We had a tip that a sale was going down on Stark Street tonight, and we were able to, um, intervene."

With that, Stephanie seemed to remember where we were. She unwound herself from me, reluctantly it seemed, and turned to face Ram and Hector, both of whom were still standing in the doorway. She settled her back against my front, pulling my arms tight around her waist. It was then that I noticed the Porsche key ring that was slipped over a finger on her left hand. The mystery of the missing Cayenne was solved. I wondered briefly about the fate of the Monte Carlo. "Thanks for the back up tonight, guys."

Ram caught my eye and quickly looked away. Hector just smiled broadly at Stephanie. "No problema, chica. I like it when we get to help you play rough with the bad guys."

Before I could ask any questions, Steph caught sight of the unfamiliar face standing next to Tank. "Babe," I began, knowing that that some sort of introductions were in order. But she was quicker than I was. She took two steps toward Bear, hand outstretched. "Forgive me," she said. "I don't think we've met. I'm Stephanie Manoso. Welcome to RangeMan Trenton."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: JE owns nearly all of these characters. I'm just having fun.**

**A/N: Thanks to latetolove who is the most patient, encouraging beta in the world. She is also the one who inspired the creation of Bear, our newest Merry Man. All mistakes are mine.**

**Big hugs to Margaret Fowler who gave me an idea that turned into this story.**

**Finally, today is Memorial Day. Ranger has just returned safely from a long and dangerous mission. I offer today's chapter in honor and memory of the military men and women who didn't make it home.**

**Chapter Two**

_**Ranger's POV**_

Tank shot me a warning look before he reached out and touched Stephanie's shoulder. "Ella has the empty apartment on four ready for Bear. Do you want to show him where it is and get him settled?"

"Of course," Stephanie replied. "We'll stop by the control room first so Bear can meet the guys on duty in case he needs anything tonight." She turned to Bear and flashed him a warm smile. "Do you want something to eat? I think Ella has stocked your fridge with fruit and sandwiches."

Bear returned her smile and gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. "Just a little time to decompress, I think."

Steph gave him a sympathetic nod. "Carlos is the same way after one of these jobs. Let me show you the gym then before we head to your apartment. If you need a sparring partner, let me know and I'll arrange it," she added softly.

Tank walked Steph and Bear to his door and shut it behind them. He motioned for me to take the chair in front of his desk. "It's about damn time you got home," he said. "Bear seems like he'll be a good addition."

"Explain," I demanded.

"You look like shit, Carlos. How long has it been since you slept?"

"Jesus Christ, Tank. Explain this to me. Stephanie Manoso?"

Tank sighed and massaged his temples.

"It was nearly three weeks ago. Steph called me from a pay phone at the Newark airport. She told me her flight to Miami had been delayed because of weather, and she had a killer headache. She asked if someone could come and pick her up because she didn't think she could manage all day in the airport with that headache."

I raised an eyebrow at Tank. "She was taking a vacation? Miami?"

Tank acted like he didn't hear me. "What she said next made me realize I should go to the airport myself. She couldn't seem to find her cell phone. She thought perhaps she had left it near the sink in the women's bathroom but, when she looked for it, it was gone. "

Holy Mother of God, I was going to have to kill Tank if he didn't get to the point.

"Since she didn't have her phone, Bombshell asked me to call Silvio and reschedule her client meetings." Tank paused, as if gauging my reaction. "Then she told me she felt like a horrible step mom but she asked me to call Rachel and explain that she wouldn't be able to surprise Julie and take her shopping as they had planned."

"What the hell, Tank?"

Tank cleared his throat. "We think Stephanie is suffering from a rare disorder called dissociative fugue. It causes people to make sudden, unexpected travels away from home in association with the inability to recall all or part of their past. Some people assume a completely new identity, while others are just confused about their identity. It's usually triggered by some sort of trauma."

_Fuck, _I thought. _Somebody hurt Stephanie when I wasn't here to protect her. _"Head trauma?" I asked Tank, struggling to keep my emotions in check.

"We considered that, especially with her severe headaches, but her MRI was normal. She also had a spinal tap that ruled out encephalitis or meningitis, and blood and urine tests were negative for toxins. Anyway, Celia says fugue is usually triggered by emotional trauma."

"Celia! You brought my sister into the middle of this?"

Tank continued talking, as if I'd never spoken. "The emotional trauma could have been recent, or it could have happened at some point in the past. It's impossible to say at this point. But Celia says that Steph has assumed the identity of Stephanie Manoso to try and cope with the trauma. Trying to convince her that she's not who she thinks she is would likely cause further damage, and she really doesn't need that right now. "

"I can't believe you called Celia," I hissed.

"Carlos, do I need to remind you of RangeMan's Standard Operating Procedures regarding Stephanie Plum? Protect Stephanie at all costs. She had a problem, and despite your issues with Celia, I called one of the most respected neurologists in the country. That neurologist just happens to be your sister."

"I can't believe that Celia was the only option."

Up until this point, Tank's posture had been relaxed, his tone measured. Now he leaned forward, and I could see the muscles in his forearms tense as has rested both palms on the top of his desk. "Only option? No, of course there were other options. There are_ always_ options. I could have just had Bobby give her some painkillers for the headache and let her get on the next plane to Miami. I don't doubt that Antonio would have been thrilled to meet his new sister-in-law."

My felt my jaw harden and knew this conversation was likely to end on the mats.

"Alternatively, I guess I could have just taken her to the ER at St Francis and explained her little problem. She mistakenly believes she is married to the man listed as the emergency contact and next of kin on her medical forms. Of course she has to be delusional to think he actually loves her enough to marry her. I'm sure they see this sort of thing all the time," he added sarcastically.

The angrier Steph is, the louder she tends to be. Tank, on the other hand, is more like me. When he's angry, his voice drops. When he spoke again, he was leaning forward toward me, and I almost had to strain to hear his words.

"Of course, I had to improvise," he said, his voice low. "I couldn't go with your usual 'A Plan.' You know, the plan that worked so well after Stiva kidnapped her and again after the Slayer incident."

"You're an ass, Tank."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Sometimes I am. But in this case, I went with the best option under the circumstances. I'm just trying to take care of our girl." He looked at me intently. "Morelli's been undercover. He left three days before I got the call from Steph. But if he was in town, I couldn't have sent her back to him even if I'd wanted to." Tank's voice was less angry. "Aside from the obvious problem—Steph thinks she's happily married to you-she has no memory of her relationship with Morelli."

"None?"

"Not since she brought him in as her first skip."

_Be careful what you wish for Manoso_, I thought. _You told her you could make her forget him._

While I was lost in my thoughts, Tank cleared his throat and spoke again. His voice was more measured. He was in control again, clearly wondering if I'd managed to pull myself together. "Not an hour ago, you were out of your mind thinking that she had gone back to Morelli. Then there was that impressive public display of affection when Steph showed up. I'm sure the guys in the control room were taking bets about whether or not you were going to put her down and take her on my desk, audience be damned. Now you seemed pissed that she's up on seven and she needs you."

"Tank, if making Stephanie my … if Stephanie Manoso was a good idea, a remotely feasible idea, it would have happened a long time ago."

As Tank and I stared at each other across his desk, it hit me. The overwhelming fatigue that comes after a long mission, after the adrenaline has faded away. My head ached. My whole body ached. My heart ached most of all.

"I'm assuming you and Celia have some sort of plan," I asked wearily.

Tank nodded. "Celia thinks that once Steph is able to recall and work through the traumatic event that triggered this, she'll remember who she really is. At that point, it's probable that she'll wake up as Stephanie Plum and have no memories of her time as Stephanie Manoso."

"And how long does Celia think that will take?"

Tank sighed. "Celia says most cases of fugue last days to weeks, although there are a few reported cases that have lasted years."

We let that thought settle between us.

"How can this possibly work?" I said finally. " Should we let everyone believe Stephanie and I had a secret wedding before I left? What are we going to tell them when Stephanie's memory comes back? That we got a divorce, even though she doesn't remember that we were married?"

Tank stared at me for a moment. When he spoke, it was in a tone that would be perfect for speaking with a difficult child … maybe a child who was difficult _and_ a little slow. "You aren't the only one with Black Ops training, know you. I know how to run a covert operation."

"Covert operation?" I repeated.

"Core team knows the real story, along with Hector, Ram, Vince and Manny. The rest of the staff believe that you really did marry Stephanie, but because of a threat made by one of your former organized crime acquaintances, her identity must be protected outside this building. When this is over, we'll tell them that Steph was working a covert op using the alias Stephanie Manoso, but the threat was still real."

"Seriously?"

Tank nodded. "Stephanie believes that a clause in your government contract prohibits you from getting married, and so she has continued to use her maiden name professionally until you can get that clause removed. Most of her clients know her as Stephanie Plum."

"Her clients?" I repeated. I was seriously beginning to feel like a slow and difficult child.

"Your wife is a member of the core team, Carlos. Did you really think she would continue to pick up low level skips for Vinnie? She's become the primary contact for a select group of clients. It turns out that a few of them really prefer dealing with a woman, and Stephanie's assistance has been invaluable. She's also helping with research and planning on high-level bonds. Because of the 'threat', she hasn't been doing much fieldwork, though. I thought it was best to keep her close. She was going a little stir crazy, so I let her out with Hector and Ram tonight.

"How is this going over at the bonds office?"

"RangeMan is taking Steph's skips, so Vinnie's not asking questions. Connie and Lula believe that Steph is your partner on a classified mission, and they can't contact her or they'll blow her cover. It helps that she lost her old cell phone, and they don't have her new number."

"What about Julie?" I asked quietly. "I know she and Steph stayed in contact after Scrog. Does she think I secretly married Stephanie and I didn't tell her?"

A pained look crossed Tank's face. "Carlos, I take care of _both_ your girls when you're out of town," he said. "Stephanie knows she can't contact Julie until we neutralize the threat. We wouldn't want the bad guys to find Julie and target her, too."

Tank was right. He really was pretty good at covert ops.

"I told Julie that you needed Steph's help to finish up this job and Steph would be out of contact for a while. I promised her that you would both come to visit once you two wrap this up."

Tank paused, as if waiting for me to argue. Instead, I stood and moved toward the door. He motioned for me to stop and sit back down.

"Carlos, before you go upstairs, there are a few things you need to know about Stephanie."

"A few things _besides_ the fact that she thinks she's my wife?"

"I don't know how to explain it, but Stephanie Manoso is different than Stephanie Plum. She's confident, capable-"

"Stephanie's always been capable."

"Yeah, but this Stephanie thinks she's responsible for RangeMan while you're in the wind. It's like she's morphed into everything she thinks your wife would need to be. She works out every day. Practices at the firing range and doesn't leave the building without at least one gun and back up."

"Next you'll be telling me that she gave up doughnuts."

Tank cleared his throat. "I've always had my suspicions about Stephanie Plum, but it's obvious that Stephanie Manoso, at least, is head over heels in love with you. In her reality, you two are still newlyweds."

"Tank," I growled in warning.

"No baked goods for the last three days, man. She said her spidey sense told her you were on your way home and she wanted to be ready. The term 'jelly donut hormones' mean anything to you?"

"Tank, I am so fucked."

"Yes," Tank answered mildly. "I think that would be part of her plan."

As I stood at Tank's door, ready to leave, a thought suddenly occurred to me.

"Tank," I said. "Connie and Lula think Steph is undercover. What about her parents? How are they reacting to her missing dinner every Friday?"

"It hasn't come up," Tank answered flatly. "She thinks her parents are dead."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: JE owns nearly all of these characters. I'm just having fun.**

**A/N: Latetolove remains the most patient, encouraging beta in the world. All mistakes are mine.**

**Big hugs to Margaret Fowler who gave me an idea that turned into this story.**

**Chapter Three**

_**Ranger's POV**_

The apartment on seven was mostly dark, but it wasn't silent. I heard a squeak from the direction of the kitchen. It sounded like Rex was busy on his wheel.

A circle of light puddled at the door to the bedroom. In the soft glow cast off by the light on the bedside table, I saw Stephanie, asleep on the bed. She was half rolled onto her side, on top of the duvet. Her brown curls were fanned out across her pillow, and she seemed to be clutching my pillow protectively to her chest. I allowed myself to drink in the sight of midnight blue silk against her creamy white skin. I sighed. This is what I had wished for when I had driven to her apartment earlier tonight. I just wanted the chance to sit in the chair by her bed and watch her sleep. I had envisioned her in one of my black t-shirts, daring to hope that she thought about me while I was away. Now she was asleep in my bed in one of the sexiest negligees I had ever seen. _This _was exactly what I had dreamed about when I was thousands of miles away. The irony of the situation hit me hard. She was right here … but she wasn't really mine.

I silently crossed the bedroom to the bathroom, closing the bathroom door before I flicked on the light. I stripped off my clothes along with the gauze bandage from my left side and stepped under the hot spray of the shower.

I was surprised when two small hands began massaging the knots in my shoulders. "Te amo, mi marido. Estoy muy feliz.. volviste a la casa," Steph whispered against my back. _I love you, my husband. I am so happy ... you have returned home_. "Te extrañé_." I missed you_. I allowed myself a minute to enjoy her touch, registering only after a moment that she had spoken to me Spanish. _Who are you, Stephanie Manoso? I_ wondered silently. _And what have you done with Stephanie Plum?_

As her hands worked my sore muscles, I marveled at the unfamiliar sensation. Not the massage, although that was great. So this is what it is like to be missed ... to have someone waiting for you at home. When her hand dropped lower, kneading my ass and my hips, I couldn't help my body's response … I needed to stop this before it went too far, but it had been so long since I had felt her hands on me. I knew the minute Steph found the row of staples on my left side. She went completely still. "How bad?" she whispered.

"I've had worse," I replied automatically.

"Tell me, Carlos." _So this is what it is like to having someone waiting for you at home_, I thought once again.

"Nick to the spleen was easily repaired. The kidney was touch and go for a couple of days but the doctor thinks I'll make a full recovery."

Steph wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her cheek into my back. "Thank God." After a moment, she spoke again, this time more hesitantly. "I'm guessing we'll have to wait a little while for me to welcome you home properly?"

I nodded. "Sorry, Babe."

"Let's get you ready for bed," she replied tenderly. Pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades, Stephanie reached around me for the bottle of Bvlgari. Her touch was light as she worked the lather over every inch of my skin. She finished by washing my hair, using the tips of her fingers, and then her nails, to massage my scalp. One of us moaned, and I'm pretty sure it was me.

Finally, Steph helped me dry off, gently patting the row of staples. "Gauze dressing?" she asked. With barely a grimace, she retrieved gauze pads and tape from under the sink and fashioned a bandage to cover the wound on my side. By this point, Stephanie Plum would have been wrapped in a towel, if not the plush bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Nudity didn't seem to bother Stephanie Manoso, though. She simply hung our damp towels on the towel rack in the bathroom and then steered me toward the bedroom.

Steph motioned for me to climb into bed. As I slid between the sheets, she stood by the bed with some uncertainty. I rolled onto my right side and held my arms out to her. "You won't hurt me, Babe. Just let me hold you." She slid into bed with a happy sigh, her back pressed against my front. "Te amo, Carlos," she said once again. This time, I whispered back into the darkness, "Te amo, Babe." Sleep came swiftly, for me at least. It was the first deep, dreamless sleep I had experienced in four months.

When I awoke, I was on my back with Steph sprawled across my chest. My right hand was tangled in the soft, brown curls at the nape of her neck. My left hand cupped her ass. When I felt her body shift, as if she planned to move away from me, I let my arms tighten around her.

"Stay," I whispered through a haze of sleep.

"I'm sorry." Steph pressed a kiss to my chest. "You were sleeping so soundly I thought I could slip down to the gym without waking you."

"Can't sleep without you." I mumbled.

"Ok," she agreed. "A little while longer. What about morning meeting?"

"Let Tank handle it."

"Honestly?"

"Mmmhmm. Honestly." One manicured nail scraped across my nipple while another trailed languorously across my collar bone. _Tank wants to be in charge, let him be in charge_, I thought.

"I have a meeting with a client in Philly at 11:30. As long as I'm ready to leave by 10:15—"

"Client? Who?" I interrupted, now fully awake. The events of last night came flooding back.

"Tristao Padhila."

"The Brazilian artist? The one with galleries in New York and Los Angeles?" _International playboy on the cover of GQ last month?_ "He's a RangeMan client?" I finally said.

"Yes, yes and yes," answered Stephanie. "Celia knows him. Apparently they both sit on the board of some non-profit foundation that supports arts education for underprivileged children. We ran into him when we were having lunch in the city last week, and Celia introduced me. Turns out there had recently been a break-in at the New York gallery, and he was interested in a new security system."

I almost let a sigh escape at the mention of Celia's name. I had spent years successfully avoiding my sister, but now it seemed like she was lurking around every corner. I cleared my throat and tried to focus on Stephanie. "You're meeting Padhila in Philly?

"The Philadelphia Museum of Art has acquired three of his most important works, and there is gala planned in a couple of weeks to showcase the new installation. There's a star-studded guest list, and he wants RangeMan to do security for the event. We're going to do a walk-though at the museum, and then we're having lunch."

"Is that safe?" I asked cautiously. I hoped Steph would attribute my concern to the fictitious organized crime threat that Tank described last night. When she giggled, I knew I'd been made.

"You're cute when you're jealous." She re-positioned herself so we were face to face, and she brushed her lips slowly across mine. "Tristao knows I'm Celia's sister-in-law." She stopped and looked me in the eye. "I know we agreed that the fewer people who know about our marriage, right now, the better. But in this particular case, Celia thought it would be best if Tristao knew that I had a husband … one who carries a gun."

She kissed me again before I could argue … and then again. Maybe she kissed me senseless because I lost track of time … or maybe I just let myself get lost in Stephanie. "This is nice," I finally said, when her lips left mine to trail lower. As she sucked gently on the skin between my neck and my shoulder, my fingers found, and absentmindedly traced, a small, flesh-colored patch on her hip. The kissing stopped abruptly.

"I'm sorry," she said sadly. "Please don't be angry with me."

"Why are you sorry, Babe?"

"You've been gone for four months, Carlos. I'm still wearing my birth control patch."

"Babe," I began uncertainly. Did she think I didn't trust her when I was away?

I felt the wetness of her tears against my chest. "Don't cry, Querida," I whispered as I caressed her back. _Querida. The name my father always called my mother when she was sad. Shit. _"Tell me what's wrong." I lifted her chin, forcing her to let me see her impossibly blue eyes. "Tell me why you're unhappy."

"You wanted to start working on our family when you came home, Carlos."

For the second time in less than 12 hours, Stephanie Plum alias Manoso had left me at a loss for words. _Who is this Carlos Manoso that you married, Babe? I don't think I know him at all,_ is what I wanted to say. "Babe, it'll be a while before I'm cleared for baby-making activity, " I said instead.

Stephanie tucked her face into my chest again. "Bobby said that it could take a while for me to get pregnant because … because I'm over 30, and I've been on contraceptives for so long. I should have taken off the patch as soon as you left, but I was … I am afraid," she amended

I understood that perfectly. The thought of a baby scared the hell out of me, too. If Stephanie Plum were here, she would be petrified. But somehow that didn't seem like the appropriate response at this point.

"Afraid?"

"What if I'm not a good mom? What if I don't love our child enough? What if-"

"We don't have to have a baby," I interrupted her, feeling relieved.

"You don't want a family with me anymore, Carlos? Because you don't think I could be a good mother to our son or daughter?" Steph was perfectly still in my arms. _Shit._

I flipped us so Stephanie was her back and I was over her, resting on my elbows. I use my thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Look at me, Babe. Do you really believe that's what I think?" I brushed my lips softly against hers, teasing her bottom lip with my tongue. "Of course, you will be a wonderful mother. A mother who supports her children and gives them wings to fly. But you and I haven't really had much time to be a family … just the two of us. Especially if you subtract all of the time that I've been away." _In fact, Babe, I have no idea how long we have been Mr. and Mrs. Manoso._

Steph sniffled and snuggled deeper into my chest. "When you put it that way, I guess you're right. If you subtract the time you were away, we've only been married a little over 6 weeks."

I wondered briefly if the timing was significant, but quickly put aside that thought to lift Steph's chin so I could look in her eyes. "Our family will grow when the time is right, Querida … when we're _both _ready for it, okay?"

Stephanie joined me in the bathroom later, while I was shaving. She stood behind me, arms wrapped around my waist, chin propped on my shoulder so she could watch me in the mirror."

"Pity," she said. "I thought the beard was kind of sexy."

"Playing with fire, Babe," I responded. I was half dressed … cargos but no shirt. With the open-mouthed kisses Stephanie was delivering to the back of my neck, the cargos were getting uncomfortably tight.

"I should be home by four-thirty, five at the latest. I could be ready for dinner at seven or so, if that works for you. Is there something special that you'd like to have?"

Stephanie caught my look of surprise in the mirror, and she burst out laughing. "Omigod, Carlos. I'm going to call Ella before I leave for Philadelphia. You thought for a minute I was going to cook something, didn't you?"

"Babe," I answered her with a sheepish smile. _Given everything else that's happened, you can't blame me for wondering_.

"Carlos," she said firmly. "There were no miraculous transformations while you were away. I'm afraid you've come home to the same old Stephanie … can't cook, doesn't clean."

She kissed the back of my neck again. "Should we invite Bear for dinner?"

"He's a new employee, not a houseguest, Babe."

Stephanie fingered the row of staples on my left side. "And yet he wasn't your employee on this recent mission, was he Carlos? I'm guessing he was more like your partner?"

I closed my eyes, remembering that night. We had been tasked with locating a group of terrorists who were targeting the upcoming Olympics. We finally tracked them to a secluded compound 60 kilometers southwest of Priekule. Our strategy was sound. The German operative was assigned to take out the sentry, while I would enter the compound and eliminate the 2 key players as they slept. At the last minute, _Hans _decided to freelance a bit in lieu of following the plan. Maybe there wasn't enough glory associated with eliminating the supporting cast instead of the stars … who knows? As a result of his impulsivity, the sentry had slit his throat. That's how the sentry came to be waiting for me in the darkness as I exited the compound. At a distance, Bear saw the attack and answered it. An arrow from a long-range bow pierced my assailant's heart, but not before he twisted the bloody dagger that he had plunged into my left side.

"You need some time to catch up with Tank, Lester and Bobby," Steph continued. "We should invite them, too."

"I'll be in meetings with them all day," I said. "Why would we invite them to dinner?"

"You'll be in meetings with the _core team_ all day. I was thinking we should invite our friends to dinner."

"Babe," I said. _I do not have dinner parties with the core team_.

"I'm not the only one who missed you these last four months, Carlos. It's hard for them when you're away ... Tank especially. Invite them up for few beers and catch up on what's been going on in their lives."

Steph locked eyes with me in the mirror. She let her hands drop slowly from my waist to my hips and then to my upper thighs. Her hands moved up my body, and then back down again in a sensual caress.

"Do you think Bobby's going to clear you for strenuous activity today?" she asked in a husky voice.

"Not likely," I replied. My voice was laced with genuine regret.

"OK, then." Steph cleared her throat. "I need a distraction so I won't try to have my wicked way with you. Invite the guys to dinner. I'm going to make sure that Ella sends something for dessert."

Ten minutes later, I was dressed, and we were standing together in the apartment foyer. I stopped for a minute to appreciate Corporate Stephanie. She was wearing a chocolate brown Dolce and Gabbana suit with a short skirt and a fitted jacket. The blue silk shirt under the jacket matched the color of her eyes perfectly ... and revealed a tantalizing amount of cleavage. Automatically, I reached out and buttoned another button on her shirt and straightened her pearl necklace. Steph sighed but smiled at me indulgently and didn't argue. "Who's your partner today?" I asked.

"Manny, as usual. Hector and Ram are my super secret back up." I raised one eyebrow at her, but she just shrugged. "I think it's an unnecessary expense for them to follow me around, but since it seems to make Tank happy, why argue?"

Suddenly Corporate Stephanie looked uncomfortable. She chewed on her bottom lip, glancing uncertainly at the silver tray that held a collection of car keys.

"Now that you're home, what car should I drive, Carlos?"

"The same car you drove when I was away?" I stalled for time, trying to sort out what was bothering her.

"I took the Cayenne last night because it had more room for Hector and Ram," she began, shifting her purse from one hand to the other nervously.

Finally, Stephanie and I were in familiar territory, and, for the first time since arriving back at Haywood, I knew what to do and was absolutely confident in the correct course of action.

"Take the Turbo, Babe."


	4. Chapter 4

_Margaret Fowler gave me an idea and challenged me to write this story. Latetolove has carefully edited each chapter, making each one better. All mistakes are mine. Thanks to everyone for reading. Special thanks to everyone who has sent a review._

Disclaimer: JE owns nearly all of these characters. I'm just having fun**.**

**Chapter Four**

_**Ranger's POV**_

I entered the small conference room located between my office and Tank's a minute before 10:00 am and found Celia seated at the head of the conference table _in my chair._ She was flanked by Bobby and Lester on the left and Tank on the right.

My older sister Celia was a Latina _wunderkind._ She had graduated from high school at 17, and then had entered medical school at Northwestern after only two years of undergraduate work. After a neurology fellowship in Boston, she had joined the School of Medicine faculty at Columbia. She had a busy clinical practice and a Department of Defense grant to study treatment of post-traumatic brain injury. Her work was yielding real benefit for soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan … a fact about which she frequently reminded me. It was rumored that Celia was on track to be youngest department head in Columbia history. It wasn't surprising really… Celia loved to be in charge.

Celia looked pointedly at her watch. "Glad you could join us, Carlos." She gestured for me to take the chair next to Tank before she turned to Bobby. "We were just getting started on our weekly meeting. Pay attention, and we'll try to catch you up on Stephanie's condition. Report," Celia ordered smoothly, shooting a smug look at me.

Bobby cleared his throat and began. "No headaches in the last five days. Balance, strength and coordination are excellent, judging from her performance in the gym and at the gun range."

"Appetite?"

"She's lost a little weight since she's been here at RangeMan, but I really attribute that more to the exercise rather than a loss of appetite. She enjoys her food as much as she ever has, but she's making healthier choices. Having Ella around helps."

"Libido?" Celia smiled at me.

"That's none of your damn concern, Celia," I said angrily.

"On the contrary, Carlos, loss of libido is a common sign of depression, so it is very much my concern."

Before I could answer, Lester broke in. "No worries, Prima. I can vouch for Steph's libido."

"Santos." My head shot up and turned sharply in Lester's direction. Before I could get out of my chair, I felt Tank's hand on my arm. That was silent RangeMan speak for "Let it go, man."

"Hey, I was in the control room when she found you in Tank's office earlier this morning. That kiss was smokin' hot." Lester smirked. "From the bulge in your pants, Carlos, I'm guessing your libido wasn't damaged too badly in Kazakhstan."

"Tank, how is she doing as Stephanie Manoso? Do you sense any hesitation or confusion?" Celia continued.

"None," Tank answered. "She's making real contributions as a member of the core team. Clients love her. When Stephanie Plum returns, I think we'll have to make some adjustments to her job duties."

Celia touched her finger to her lips thoughtfully and then shifted into professor mode. "Fugue is a rare disorder. It affects less than one in 2000 people, although cases tend to increase in times of war or around the time of natural disasters. We do know that fugue is usually triggered by emotional trauma, maybe something recent or maybe something that occurred in the distant past." Celia shifted in her chair, leaned back and crossed her legs. "Do you remember reading last year about the case of the missing lawyer from Westchester?" Tank, Lester and Bobby all shook their heads.

"Get to the point, Celia," I urged through clenched teeth.

"One day last year, a successful, 57-year-old attorney, left the garage near his office and disappeared. From all accounts, he was happily married with two young sons. He was a Boy Scout leader and active in his church." Celia leaned forward and looked around the table. "He was found six months later, living under a new name in a homeless shelter in Chicago. He had no idea who he really was or where he'd come from. His family identified him when his picture appeared on television."

"And he had suffered an emotional trauma?" asked Lester.

Celia nodded. "Yes! It turns out that he had walked in between the towers of the World Trade Center just before the first airplane hit on September 11, years earlier."

"So .. " Celia began, glancing around the table. "Are any of you aware of any traumatic events in Steph's past, except for that incident with Scrog last year?"

There was a moment of shocked silence, followed by the sound of hysterical laughter.

"Omigod," Lester gasped. "You do know who you're dealing with, right Celia? We're talking about Trenton's own Bombshell Bounty Hunter. So many of her cars have exploded, we've lost count. Her apartment's been firebombed. She's been shot, stalked, kidnapped, locked in a coffin, trapped in burning building. She would have been gang raped had she not been rescued at the last minute by a cross-dresser wielding an Uzi." He paused. "Do you know how many dead bodies she's found? Random body parts are delivered to her home, Celia."

Lester took a deep breath. "Through out all of this, her mother tells her that she's nothing but a disappointment, and her alleged boyfriend berates her in public."

"That's not me." I said to Celia. "I'm not the boyfriend."

Celia rolled her eyes at me before she said, "And how has Stephanie dealt with all of these, um, difficulties?"

"She's resilient," Tank efficiently replied.

"Steph's feisty," Lester chimed in. "She gets mad rather than sad. She's not one to be the victim."

"She's got some good coping skills," Bobby added. "When she 'needs a little happy' she goes shopping or walks the beach at Point Pleasant."

"She gets nightmares sometimes," I added softly. "But when I left, they were getting less frequent."

Tank shot me a look, which I ignored.

"Hmmm," Celia said, looking less certain of herself. "Maybe for now we should just concentrate on events in the 72 hours prior to Stephanie calling Tank."

The meeting ended, and Celia and I found ourselves alone in the conference room. She slid into the chair next to me and swiveled my chair so that I was facing her.

"Welcome home, little brother."

"This is a clusterfuck, Celia. I hope you know what you're doing."

Celia stared at me intently, as if searching for something. "What's she running from, Carlos?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I wish I did."

"Whatever she's running from, she ran here, to _you. _Why do you think she did that?"

"Stephanie's come here in the past, when she's had a problem. I think she's always felt safe here."

"That's significant," mused Celia. "You keep her safe."

"It's a secure building filled with ex-Army Rangers, Celia. Most people would feel safe here."

"You take care of her," she persisted.

I thought carefully before I answered my sister. I thought about how Stephanie reacted when I was a suspect in the Ramos murder. I thought about her actions when Julie was kidnapped. "We take care of each other," I replied simply.

"You love her." It came out more of a statement than a question.

I ran my fingers through my hair. "That's irrelevant, Celia."

"Irrelevant to whom, Carlos? To you, or to Stephanie?"

"I'm not exactly husband material. I just spent four months off the grid in a third word hellhole."

Celia waived her hand dismissively. "So you travel a lot. Salesmen travel a lot, too."

"Every time I go, there's a chance I won't come back."

"I suspect that's something that firefighters think about, as well , just before they rush into a burning building. "

"I have enemies, Celia. Enemies that would enjoy nothing better than torturing Stephanie Manoso to get to me."

"Oh," said Celia. "Of course. That makes perfect sense." I heard the tinge of sarcasm creep into her voice. "Your enemies would come after your wife but not your mother Maria Manoso, or your sister Celia Manoso-Munez, or your daughter-"

"Stop," I hissed.

"Or your daughter Julie," she finished. We both silently acknowledged what she had left unsaid. Not having my name didn't protect Julie.

"I've never intentionally misled Stephanie about what I can offer her, Celia, and I'm not about to start now."

"You sure about that, Carlos?"

At this point, the badass mercenary-turned-corporate executive and the hotshot neurologist had left the room. Now bossy, older sister tried to stare down her defiant, angry little brother. Finally, the sister caved and exhaled wearily in defeat.

"Look, I'm not in your head," she paused. "That would be one scary, dark place to be. But it's clear that you care for her. It's also clear that she's tried to give you what you need, even if in the past that has meant giving you space. I'm telling you that she needs some time, Carlos. How hard can it be to give her a few days?"

"She's in my bed, Celia."

"I'm guessing she's been there before, hermano?"

"She thinks she's my wife! I'm not going to take advantage of her." _She's thinking babies, _I added silently. _How will I explain a baby to Stephanie Plum ... if she ever comes back?_

"Oh, don't worry. She'll come back." Apparently ESP was a Manoso family gift. Celia looked more cheerful. "Thank God you're injured. That should allow you to stall for at least a week. Maybe she'll get her period. If we can't solve this puzzle by next Friday, I'll call in a psychiatry colleague from Princeton."

"What's next Friday?"

Celia looked at me as if I'd grown two heads. " How could you forget our mother's 60th birthday? Papi has planned a surprise party and invited half of Newark, along with a sizable proportion of Miami." I let Celia's words sink in, and, for the first time in months, I felt a tendril of fear start to uncoil deep in my belly. "Yeah, that's what I'm thinking, too," said Celia, recognizing the look on my face. "If we don't get to work, your new wife will be Mama's biggest birthday surprise."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: JE owns nearly all of these characters. I'm just having fun.**

**A/N: If you like Manny in this story, thank latetolove. She is the one who taught me how to gather all of this 'intel' about the Merry Men. Check out her Merry Men bios. All mistakes here are mine.**

**Big hugs to Margaret Fowler who gave me an idea that turned into this story and lots of encouragement to get it done.**

_Chapter 5_

_Ranger's POV_

_Firefight in Kabul._

_Ambush in the Bolivian jungle._

_Highjacking by pirates off the coast of Somalia._

_Hand-to-hand combat in snow-bound Kazakhstan._

I sank down in my desk chair, powered up my computer … and contemplated all the things I would rather do than spend a morning with Celia. For nearly 9 years, I had systematically (and effectively) shielded my personal and professional life from my sister; not that I had much of a personal life. Until this week, she had never been inside RangeMan, let alone my apartment on seven. She had certainly never met Stephanie Plum. Now, thanks to Tank's good intentions, she was involved in my life… again. _And everything had worked out so well the last time._

Before I could type my username and password into the login screen, the man himself was at my door.

"Don't get too comfortable," he said. "Your dance card is full today."

"That's surprising, given that I'm not officially here."

"Jack's waiting for you in my office. He's been on the phone all morning with the boys in Washington. They are really pissed."

Jack Marshall was RangeMan's lead attorney. We paid him well to deal with cranky bureaucrats. "It's in the contract," I said with a shrug. "I was out of country for more than 120 days. I'm entitled to three days personal time."

"True," said Tank. "Except now that you're stateside, they're getting impatient. They're threatening to pull the 'national security' card. That trumps the contact."

"The threat has been eliminated," I answered angrily. "Ergo _no_ threat to national security."

"You know how this works," Tank said. He was as calm as I was angry. "Talk to Jack. He can probably hold them off for another couple of days if you're willing to take the heat when you get to D.C."

"Pendejas," I muttered. _Incompetent_ _jackasses._ "What else?"

"Conference call with Antonio at 1330 and then Bobby's expecting you at 1600 for your medical evaluation."

"Something urgent in Miami?"

"Antonio's ready to sign a deal with a new client, but it'll require a 25% increase in personnel and likely an auxiliary office in Key West. He wants to talk with you first, but we've been over the numbers." The acting CEO of RangeMan looked at me pointedly. "It's a lucrative contract and a chance to solidify our base in south Florida. I've already scheduled you for some time in Miami once you finish the debriefing."

Neither of us spoke for a moment.

"You could always take her with you," Tank said in response to my unspoken question. "She's never seen the house."

"If Stephanie Plum doesn't come back soon," I acquiesced. "I'll consider it."

"Even if she does," Tank said a bit more insistently. "She would enjoy the house … and the beach," he said again.

He turned, as if headed for the door. I stayed seated. "You partnered Stephanie with Ramos," I said slowly, causing him to pause. "That was an interesting choice." I wasn't disagreeing with Tank's decision. I just wanted to understand his reasons.

"You know we've had a difficult time finding the right partner for Manny."

I nodded. Manny had a unique set of skills. Unlike the majority of the guys at RangeMan, he wasn't ex-military. He'd studied Psychology at Georgetown, thanks to a scholarship for Hispanic students. His senior year, he had landed a paid internship with the FBI and, after graduation, he had joined one of the agency's behavioral analysis units. BAU One's specific charge was counterterrorism and threat assessment, and Manny had quickly distinguished himself as an expert profiler and crime analyst. He even worked a couple of high-profile hostage negotiations. In fact, that's how Tank and I met him. We had been called in to do an extraction of a diplomat's twin daughters if negotiations failed. They didn't.

Manny excelled at his work, but profiling was largely a desk job, and he longed to be in the field. Recruiting him to RangeMan was easy. Figuring out how to best use his skills was a little harder. We needed him in research and client development. He preferred apprehensions.

"You know Manny's background makes some of the guys uncomfortable," Tank said slowly.

"You mean that he's Salvadoran?" That generated a snort and eye roll from Tank. "Are they intimidated that he graduated first in his class from Georgetown, or by the fact that he was a fed?" I asked. A lot of soldiers had an innate distrust of feds. I completely understood that. _Pendejas._

"Maybe both," Tank smirked. "Zip complained that when Manny got all quiet, he was trying to psychoanalyze him. Stephanie, on the other hand, is completely at ease with Manny. They spent a lot of time together while you were away," Tank said carefully.

"Explain," I said, conscious of a tightening in my jaw. _It was hard enough when I just had Morelli to worry about._

"It wasn't like that," he said quickly. "At least, I never had any indication from either of them that they were anything more than friends. Steph signed up for a class at the community college, and she asked Manny to help her with her homework. They got together a couple of nights a week."

"Class?" What kind of class?"

"Steph didn't want to talk too much about it. She said she wanted it to be a surprise," Tank answered vaguely. _Surprise had certainly been the operative word with Stephanie since I'd been home. I wondered briefly what else she had in store for me._

Tank waited a moment for me to complete my inner dialogue with myself before he continued. "But when I saw that they worked well together, I decided to pair them on a couple of jobs that involved complex searches but relatively straightforward apprehensions. Manny has the formal training and discipline, but Steph's creative; she has good intuition and a network of contacts in Trenton. They make a good team." _Trust me_, I think he added silently.

"There's one more thing," Tank added as he turned once more to go. "I trust Manny to protect Stephanie _at all costs_."

"That's his job," I said.

"Yeah," Tank smiled. "But that's not his motivation."

**Manny's POV**

I'm good at reading human behavior. That's what made me a good profiler at the Bureau.

Honestly, it was something I learned from my dad. Jose Ramos sold household appliances in Arlandia, Virginia, a Salvadoran enclave halfway between Arlington and Alexandria. On the Saturdays that my mom would pick up weekend nursing shifts at nearby Holy Cross Hospital, I would spend the day with my dad at the Chirilagua Home Emporium, watching him work.

Like any good salesman, he could easily pick out those who actually came to buy, from the crowds who came to the air-conditioned store to find a little relief on a hot, July afternoon. But more importantly, my father had an uncanny gift of understanding what his customers needed, even before they understood it themselves. I think the newlyweds were his favorite. They always came into the store holding hands, looking hopeful. _I could sell you this washer and dryer_, he would say to them earnestly as they contemplated the cheapest models in the store. _They're reliable enough and a good value for the money. But if you're thinking about having children anytime soon, _he would say with a smile at the blushing wife and a glance over at the deluxe set, _I have to show you our __**family**__ model._

He commiserated with the husbands who were waffling about the purchase of the family's first dishwasher. _It's true_, he would say to them with a sympathetic nod of his head, _not every home __**needs**__ a dishwasher_. _Of course, a man who has achieved the success that you have likes to provide a little luxury for his wife now and then._

He reassured the grandmotherly women with the sad eyes that yes, a seven cubic foot deep freeze was indeed a practical and prudent investment. They were simply planning ahead, making sure they could feed their families should they ever fall upon hard times in the future. _Remember those days in __Chalatenango__, when there was nothing to eat,_ he would remind them, w_hat would you have given for a well-stocked deep freeze then?_

From my father, I learned to sit back and watch those around me. Over time, I learned to spot the discrepancies between what people said and what their body language told me. I began to intuit their hidden agendas. By the time I got to the BAU, I could tell who had secrets. I could tell who was lying.

And then I met Stephanie Plum. I had never met a more open, sincere, guileless person. I didn't have to study Stephanie. Her inner thoughts and feelings bubbled up and out, freely and unfiltered. It was utterly refreshing and occasionally a little unnerving.

Ever since Stephanie Plum had breezed into the ER at St. Francis and demanded to see me, claiming to be my wife, she and I had settled into an easy friendship. I'd never really had a close female friend before. Truth be told, I never really had that many close friends. But when Stephanie learned that my maternal great-grandmother was Italian, she decided that meant we were practically distant cousins and that almost obligated us to hang out together.

In the beginning, we would grab a pizza at Pino's on days that I was on Bombshell duty. Then, when she asked me to help her with her school work, it was easier to make a big pot of red sauce and some spaghetti that we could eat while we studied at my kitchen table.

I think everyone was surprised when Tank partnered us on a couple of jobs. Surprised that I didn't complain about long hours at the computer doing research. Surprised that nothing blew up during the apprehension. Maybe surprised that Wifey didn't find me as odd as the rest of them apparently did. I was a little surprised myself to find out that Wifey had a keen attention to detail and a knack for profiling. She had insights that never would have occurred to me.

While the boss had been out of town, I found myself driving by Stephanie's apartment late at night, just to look up at her bedroom window and reassure myself that everything was OK. We all knew about the nights that Ranger spent in her parking lot, staring up at that window. The control room could see their GPS signals; his and hers blips, on the computer screen. Ranger would be pleased to know that I was watching out for Stephanie, I told myself at the time. I was less certain of that when I received a RangeMan memo about the wedding.

When Tank called me to his office and told me the truth, I was relieved; mostly that she hadn't kept something so important from me. Relieved, too that I hadn't missed the subtle signs that were invariably present when someone was keeping a very big secret: the forced smile, the avoidance of eye contact, the defensive body language with legs crossed, hands in pockets. In truth, there was also an unexpected twinge of disappointment. Even though Ranger was out of the country, she subconsciously ran to him when she needed help. _She became Stephanie Manoso,_ _not Stephanie Ramos. _I was going to protect her all the same.

Of course, she wasn't just 'married' to the Boss. Stephanie was a now member of the core team and technically, she was my boss as well as my partner. It was even more awkward that I wasn't quite sure what she remembered about our friendship over these last few months. Although she had been back at work for nearly two weeks now, we hadn't really spent any time together. I understood that Tank felt the need to keep her close … he had partnered with her himself when she met with clients. Until last night, she hadn't been alone with anyone except a member of the core team. Her memory loss was selective, Tank said. It was going to be an interesting day.

I was surprised that she was already waiting for me in the garage this morning. Stephanie Plum was never early. I had to remind myself that Stephanie Manoso had a shorter commute to work. Instead of her standard RangeMan uniform, Stephanie was wearing a short skirt and high heels that made her legs look a mile long. Leaning up against the Turbo, legs crossed as she read emails on her iPhone, she looked completely relaxed. My friend looked nothing like a woman who had assumed a new identity to deal with an overwhelming emotional trauma. She looked _exactly_ like the sexiest Porsche ad I'd ever seen.

Until this morning, a Corvette had been my dream car. If a picture of Stephanie in the garage ever got out, every man in the tri-state area was going to want a Turbo. When Stephanie caught sight of me, she straightened up and smiled. "Hola, Manny. Estas listo? Te importarias si yo conduzco?" _Hi, Manny. Are you ready? Do you mind if I drive_? At least she remembered that.

The traffic on I-95 was moderately heavy this morning, and Stephanie was in her driving zone. Turns out, both of the Manosos like to drive really, really fast. But unlike Ranger, whose driving zone involves almost Zen-like meditation, Stephanie engaged in constant chatter as she accelerated around slow-moving cars. Each time she pushed in the clutch and shifted gears, her short skirt slid up just a bit. I found myself starting to sweat.

"Are you too warm, Manny? I can turn down the heater," Steph said with a sideways glance at me as she downshifted. The temperature in the car shifted upward, but adjusting the heater wasn't likely to help.

"Nah, Wifey, I'm fine, thanks." _Shit_, I thought to myself, as soon as the words left my mouth. Probably not an appropriate way to address the boss' wife. I cleared my throat and kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead of us. "Sorry. I guess I shouldn't call you that anymore, now that you're married to Boss Man," I clarified.

A frown creased Steph's face for just a moment and then she grinned. "I don't see why not. Ranger still prefers to call me 'Babe.' You can stick with Wifey. I would be upset if you didn't," she added.

Ten miles closer to Philadelphia, she shot me another sideways glance. "I really wanted to tell you, Manny. It was killing me _not_ to tell you," she said. _Now that's the Wifey I recognize_, I thought. "We planned to tell everyone at RangeMan as soon as Ranger got home and worked out the details with his contract. We just didn't expect him to be gone for so long." She sounded sad. "Anyway, I've missed you. Tank said that you had some projects you needed to finish up for Boston office and that's why you weren't available to partner with me. I'm guessing you've wrapped all of that up now?" When she glanced over at me again, her expression was serious and her brow was furrowed. "You weren't avoiding me because you were mad, right?"

When I shook my head and smiled, she breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief. "I've never been mad at you," I answered truthfully. _I'm not sure that's even possible, _I added silently.

As we exited I-676 West onto the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, Steph got down to business. "Our walk-through at the museum shouldn't take more than an hour and a half. I'm thinking that you can join Hector and Ram when they arrive, and then when we're ready to go to the restaurant, the three of you can follow us over. I'll drive Tristao in the Turbo if that's OK with you. We have reservations at Osteria at 1:15 … my table's in the corner, away from the window. Your table is between mine and door."

"I could do this meeting with you, Wifey. Really, it wouldn't be a problem." I detected a hint of pleading in my tone. Stephanie missed it … or maybe she chose to ignore it.

"I'm meeting with the head of security for the Philadelphia Museum of Art and a very well-known, respectable artist. I'll be fine."

'Respectable' wasn't really mentioned in the article _Rolling Stone_ did about Tristao Padhila last month, but I didn't want to argue with Wifey.

She must have finally noticed my hesitation because she tried to reassure me. "I've already met with Tristao once at Haywood, and I feel comfortable with him. He's undergone the super-duper RangeMan client background check, and he passed. Tank approved him as a client, and you know how Tank is," she said, shooting me a conspiratorial smile.

I smiled back but kept my arms folded across my chest, willing Wifey to reconsider.

Stephanie turned right into the parking lot of the museum and parked the Turbo in a spot marked "visitor" right next to the entrance. She shifted in her seat to look at me. "Look," she said. "I'm wearing Ranger's diamond studs." She tucked her brown curls behind her ears to show me. "GPS on the right, panic button on the left." She pushed up the sleeve of the jacket of her designer suit to reveal a slim wrist and an Omega watch. "There's a GPS in the watch and another in my purse." She opened her leather bag to show me.

"The GPS units transmit my location to your iPhone as well as to the control room. I promise that I'll text you every 30 minutes so you'll know that I'm fine."

As she slid out of the Porsche, she turned to look at me again. She gave me a broad grin that made my heart beat a little faster.

"Honestly," she said, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat. "No te preoccupes. _Don't worry._ What could possibly go wrong?"

At exactly 12:55, Stephanie exited through the rear door of the museum, the artist at her heels. She gave us a little finger wave and smiled as she beeped open the doors of the Turbo. Her companion glanced over at us, shooting us a smile of his own. Tristao Padhila moved with the easy grace of an athlete. His build suggested soccer player. Or surfer. The wavy blond hair, dazzling smile and self-confident swagger screamed male supermodel. Or international playboy.

"_Hostia puta,_" Hector muttered appreciatively. _Holy shit._

"You shouldn't be looking at Wifey that way," I admonished him. _Holy shit was right. At this rate, Ranger was going to kill us both._

"No miro Estefania," Hector sighed. _I'm not looking at Stephanie._

"He's a friend of Ranger's sister," I offered helpfully. "Celia introduced him to Steph."

"Et por supuesto eso mejorará la relacíon que Ranger tiene con su hermana. _And this will definitely improve the relationship that Ranger has with his sister. _I thought I detected a hint of sarcasm in Hector's voice, but with Hector, even I couldn't always be sure.

Osteria on Broad Street seemed like it would be a good place to take a date, not that I had much experience with that. I was tickled when I saw that Wifey had chosen an Italian restaurant … _rustic Italian,_ according to the menu. I might be seven-eighths Salvadoran but today I was perfectly happy to celebrate my European heritage, the part that Stephanie and I had in common. _Ha_! I thought at her Brazilian lunch date.

The large windows at the front of the restaurant were great for ambience but a security nightmare. Fortunately, Steph had planned ahead. True to her word, she had secured a table in a small alcove at the edge of the main dining room. She sat with her back against the wall, with a clear view of the front door and the restaurant's open kitchen. I was seated two tables away, just close enough to listen to the happy sounds she made as she enjoyed her pappardelle with veal ragu. Just like the car, the restaurant was uncomfortably warm. Tristao Padhila just smiled at Steph, unfazed. I suspect he was used to women moaning in his presence.

By the time Wifey licked the last bite of panna cotta from her spoon, I was beginning to feel a tinge of relief. The day had been surprisingly uneventful, if you discounted the mutiny in my cargos. It wouldn't take me long to write up my report for today and then I could be on my way home to a cold beer and a cold shower. Stephanie Plum _never_ had days like this. Maybe the name Manoso worked like a talisman, warding off evil. I looked at the last, small spoonful of panna cotta on my own plate longingly, hearing my mother's words. _Remember Manny, in our culture it's polite to leave a tiny bit food on your plate. _Dessert was all but forgotten when I saw a familiar, dark-haired man approach her table.

"Hey, Cupcake."

"Joe, how are you?"

Tank had given orders that the Plum-Manoso union was to be a closely guarded secret outside RangeMan. All details were strictly 'need to know.' Hell, I understood that Ranger hadn't even known until early this morning. With growing unease, I wondered what Tank had decided that Detective Morelli needed to know. If he had caught wind of a wedding, I suspected he wouldn't be happy. If he didn't know about Stephanie's recent relocation to Haywood …. Automatically, my hand went to the gun at my waist.

Wifey's face was pleasantly neutral as she turned to speak to her dining companion. Not the patented RangeMan 'blank face' exactly, but not a bad attempt for Stephanie. "Tristao, this is Detective Joseph Morelli. We grew up in the same neighborhood. We, um, had the occasion to work together when I started out as a bond enforcement agent."

Morelli gave a perfunctory nod in Padhila's direction before he focused on Stephanie. "You're still mad."

Stephanie laughed, a nice, easy genuine laugh. "It wasn't very nice of you to handcuff me naked to my shower rod, but its not worst thing you've ever done to me, Joe. I'm willing to let bygones be bygones."

The cop looked puzzled for a moment, then a satisfied smirk spread across his face. Whatever he was remembering, I was pretty sure the boss wouldn't like it. Especially the naked part that involved handcuffs. Shit! How was I going to explain that in my report? Padhila, for his part, settled back in his chair and looked delighted.

"This job is almost finished. I'll be back in Trenton next week." Morelli took a step closer to the table.

Steph smiled politely. "Have you been in Philadelphia for a long time, Joe?"

The cop stared at her, open-mouthed. To the casual observer, he might have just appeared surprised. I knew how to spot the subtle signs of suppressed anger: rigid posture, flushed skin, slight squint to the eyes, dilated pupils. Wifey didn't seem to notice.

"Look, my work schedule is pretty hectic these days, but maybe we could get together for lunch one day." She slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out a standard RangeMan business card. "I don't have cards with my new information yet, but you can reach me though the main number."

"What the hell kind of game do you think you're playing, Cupcake?"

As soon as I saw him reach out to take her arm, I was out of my chair. Stephanie startled violently and for the briefest of moments, there was a look of sheer terror in her eyes. Then suddenly, Stephanie Manoso was back. She pushed back from the table and stood just out of Morelli's reach. Any trace of fear had disappeared and she radiated the menacing calm of a cobra, ready to strike. "Nice to chat with you, Detective Morelli, but I'm sure you need to get back to work."

Morelli dropped his hand to his side, with his fist clenched. "This isn't over, Stephanie," he muttered.

After the cop left, Wifey returned to her seat and sat quietly for a moment, as if she was struggling to regain her composure. Then she reached out for the bottle of sparkling water that sat on table and refilled her glass. I was ready to swoop in and whisk her back to Haywood when the Brazilian spoke up.

"If you protect my galleries as well as you protect yourself, I've spent my money well," said Padhila. He placed one hand over hers." You two have a history, do you not?"

"You remember that I told you that I used to work as a bounty hunter?" Padhila nodded. "A couple of years ago, Joe was unfairly accused of murder. He skipped out on bail, and it was my job to bring him in." Stephanie explained.

Padhila looked at her intently. "He acts like you two have a personal history. Am I mistaken, Estefania?"

"He was my first," Stephanie explained. "I was 16."

Padhila relaxed in his chair and smiled. "Ah," he nodded in understanding. "I was 15 when I was initiated by the best friend of my eldest sister. The first is always memorable, no?"

Stephanie sighed, and when she rubbed her temples, I wondered if she had another headache. According to Tank, her headaches had seemed to improve over the last week or so. I made a mental note to let Bobby know. "I guess memorable is the right word." At that moment, she looked like she was trying very hard to remember.

"Estefania, I have never met a woman like you." Tristao leaned forward and took her hand again. "Come home to Rio de Janeiro with me."

"Surely you have a security system for your house in Brazil, Tristao. Are you not pleased with it?"

Padhila smiled as he brought her hand to his lips. "If I say no, will you come home with me?" My hand went back to my gun. Maybe I would still have to shoot someone today. Stephanie, for her part, looked completely at ease. Unlike Morelli, this man didn't seem to represent a threat.

"You flatter me, Tristao. If I wasn't married and so in love with my husband, I would come with you in a heartbeat." She gave his hand a quick squeeze before tactfully extracting her hand from his grasp. She rested both hands around her water glass. The artist seemed unperturbed.

"Your husband is a man of the world, is he not? Surely he understands that you have needs when he is away for so many months at a time?"

"Yes, he understands perfectly," Steph answered with a laugh. "That's why he leaves me the keys to his Porsche. That car is positively orgasmic." Funny, I had the same thought this morning. I saw a soft smile creep across her face. "He's home now though … since early this morning."

Padhila chuckled softly. "As you wish, Bonita. But I have seen the photo of your husband that you keep on your desk. He is almost as pretty as you are. You could bring him with you. My bed is large and I would be happy to get to know both of you better."

Writing the report for today was going to fucking kill me, I thought. If it didn't, Ranger certainly would. _First Morelli and now the artist._

Steph sighed. "He is beautiful, isn't he? Tristao, it's a tempting offer but …" She paused and flashed Padhila a breathtaking smile. Her tone was friendly but firm. "I don't share."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: JE owns nearly all of these characters. I'm just having fun**.**

_Big hugs to Margaret Fowler gave me an idea and kept encouraging me until I managed to write the story._

_Thanks to latetolove for her careful and thoughtful editing. Any mistakes are mine._

**Chapter SIX**

_**Ranger's POV**_

"This will be easier for both of us if you'll just lie down," Bobbie said to me as I sat on the edge of the exam table.

Reluctantly, I turned and stretched out on the table. Bobby started the methodical head to toe exam that was standard RangeMan protocol for employees injured in the field. He finished by palpating the edges of wound on my left side.

"Wound's healing ok. I can take out every other staple today, but the rest are going to need to be in for at least another 48 hours. You're going to have a helluva scar."

He glanced at the small container on the counter by the sink. "There's just trace blood in your urine now, so you're probably healing OK on the inside, too." He paused for a moment. "Weapon?"

"Dagger. Less than eight inches. Recently used to slit the throat of a piss ant German who couldn't follow directions."

"Your last tetanus shot was three years ago, and you've been vaccinated against hepatitis B. They give you antibiotics?" When I nodded in assent, Bobby replied, "OK. There's not much else we can do at this point."

He was quiet for a moment and then looked at me intently. "How many units of blood did they have to give you?"

"Six total," I answered.

"So you almost bled out."

I shrugged. "I didn't though. And the other guy is in worse shape." _Yeah_, _dead is definitely worse._

Bobby sighed and scrubbed at the staples with an alcohol pad. "Why do you keep doing this shit, Ranger?"

I shrugged, ignoring the stinging caused by the alcohol. "It's who I am."

"No, my friend. It's what you've chosen to _do_. You can choose to do something else. You ever give some thought to retiring, you know, while you're still at the top of your game?" Bobby unwrapped a small metal tool that looked strikingly similar to a pair of needle-nosed pliers. He slipped the metal tip under the edge of a staple and squeezed, extracting the staple from my skin.

"I'm 31 years old. I plan to be at the top of my game for at least a few more years." _Who knows? I might even get better. The little pile of staples accumulating on the edge of the exam table suggested I had some room for improvement. _

"Ted Williams or Willie Mays?" Bobby persisted. It was a question we had often posed to each other during our early days in the Rangers. Bobby and I shared a love of baseball and these guys were baseball legends. Ted Williams spent 21 years with the Boston Red Sox. Often called the "Greatest Hitter Who Ever Lived," he was the last Major League Baseball player to bat over .400 in a single season. In his final season, he hit .316 with 29 home runs and 72 RBIs.

Willie Mays, too, had an incredible baseball career, with 660 career home runs, a .302 average, two MVP awards, and 12 Gold Gloves. But in his last two seasons, he hit only a combined .232 with 14 home runs and 47 RBI. It was an anticlimactic end to an otherwise amazing career.

I knew exactly what Bobby was asking. You want to go out on top, or you want to be one of those who hangs on too long. In our line of work, hanging on too long didn't just lead to embarrassment. Hanging on too long could be deadly.

"Williams was 41 when he retired," I countered confidently.

Bobby responded with a snort of disgust as he gave the final staple a firm yank. I was pretty certain he pulled harder than he needed to … he looked disappointed when I didn't wince. When he spoke again, he was all business.

"Alright, then. You can walk or run on the treadmill for up to 60 minutes a day for conditioning. No lifting. No sparring or other contacts sports until the rest of the staples come out and the blood in your urine clears. No sex."

"I wouldn't sleep with Steph under false pretenses!" I told him angrily.

Bobbie looked at me, weighing his options. I was bigger, stronger. He'd never bested me on the mats. Yet, now here I was, naked on his exam table, patched together with staples. He must have decided it was worth the risk.

"You mean you wouldn't do it again," he said slowly, as he smeared antibiotic ointment down the row of remaining staples.

"It wasn't like that!" My cock twitched a little, remembering exactly what it _was_ like. Bobby pretended not to notice.

"No commitment. You can't do relationships because of your government contract. She's better off with Morelli. Everything you told her was a bunch of bullshit, Ranger."

_Not everything I told her was bullshit. I do love her_, I wanted to say.

Instead, I sat up, slid off the table and pulled on my cargoes. "What happened to her Bobby?" I asked, effectively changing the subject.

Bobby stared at me for minute, no doubt debating whether or not to let me re-direct our conversation. "Celia says—"

"I don't give a flying fuck what Celia says. I trust you, and I want your opinion."

"Fugue is very rare. I've never actually seen a case. But from what I've read, Steph is exhibiting most of the classic symptoms."

"Most?"

"Fugue is usually triggered by an event that causes extreme emotional or psychological stress. It's a coping mechanism, albeit not a very good one." Bobby swept the pile of staples into the trash. "Usually there's some outward indication that something is wrong."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Depression is common, or at least some anxiety. But I don't see that with Bomber. She's happier than I ever remember her being. She's even making good choices about her own health and safety."

I nodded. Tank had told me as much last night.

"She had these incapacitating headaches at the beginning but now that she's settled in here, those have disappeared." He looked me in the eye and spoke firmly. "I don't know what caused this, but being Stephanie Manoso agrees with her."

Just then Tank appeared in the doorway. "Everything check out OK?"

"Yes," Bobby and I answered in unison.

Tank looked amused. "Steph and Manny are on their way back. Meet me in the control room when you're finished, and Lester will give us the prelim."

"You found anything yet?" I asked Tank as I pulled my t-shirt over my head.

"No." I could hear the frustration in his voice. "Cal's been over her apartment with a fine tooth comb. I looked at her cell phone records myself as well as her ingoing and outgoing email."

"What can you reconstruct from her trackers?"

"Two days before I got the call, she stopped at Tasty Pastry on her way to RangeMan. She spent the morning here and then the afternoon at the bonds office.'

"She bring in a skip?"

"You'd better confirm that with Connie. Her car stayed at the bonds office but sometimes they take Lula's car."

I quirked an eyebrow at Tank. "You couldn't ask Lula?" _You two never worked it out?"_

Tank just cleared his throat. "The following day, she was at RangeMan until roughly 1300. Her car made stops at the library and her parents' house. It appears she spent the night in her apartment. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary."

Bobby spoke, voicing out loud what we had all been thinking. "When it comes to Stephanie Plum, things are about as far from ordinary as you can get."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: JE owns nearly all of these characters. I'm just having fun**.**

_Big hugs to Margaret Fowler gave me an idea and kept encouraging me until I managed to write the story._

_Thanks to latetolove for her careful and thoughtful editing. Any mistakes are mine._

_**Chapter 7**_

_**Tank's POV**_

With a glance, Bobby had told me all that I needed to know. Ranger had been seriously hurt. It was much worse than had he let on, and he was lucky to be home alive. _Again. _Ranger seemed to have more lives than a whole herd of cats, but it didn't seem like a good idea to tempt Fate too many times. We were getting too old for this shit. We had a successful business to run, and I didn't plan on doing it by myself.

I left Ranger and Bobby to finish the paperwork and headed to the fifth floor. When I entered the control room, Lester was glued to the monitors.

"ETA on Steph," I asked him.

Lester glanced up at me. "Eight minutes, depending."

"Depending?"

"Depending on whether or not the cops pull her over for excessive speed."

"I'll talk to her about that." The Turbo had a bit more pick up than what Little Girl was accustomed to. "Any problems in Philly?"

"Meeting with the client went well. Steph's already emailed the signed contract from the museum, the blueprints for the main building and the annex along with the employee list and the guest list so we can start running security searches. The First Lady is on the tentative list so we may be coordinating with the Secret Service."

I glanced at my watch. "That's efficient."

Lester smirked at me. "Maybe we should all get iPads wrapped in Gucci cases. Then we could all be more _efficient_."

I just shrugged, palms raised in a 'it's not my fault' gesture. "Hey, Ella does her shopping, and Hector manages her electronic devices."

Lester smirked. "Yeah, dude, I know. You just sign the checks."

"So, no problems?" I reiterated.

"The artist wants her in his bed, but she let him down gently."

"What the fuck!" I said.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Tank. This is Tristao Padhila, after all. But who wouldn't want Beautiful in his bed?"

"Santos," I cautioned him. _I don't have time for this right now. "_His fuse if pretty short, between this FUBAR mission and the situation with Stephanie."

"Yeah, but he's in no shape to call me to the mats at the moment … and that's not exactly your style."

Lester was right. It wasn't my style. "Not my style at all," I said. "Cancelling your bonus and scheduling you to work monitors the next four weekends, that's more my style."

"Give me a break, Tank." Lester's eyes were back on the monitor. "Don't tell me _you_ would have been complaining if she'd showed up thinking she was _your _wife."

_Sorry, Santos. I'm not touching that one with a ten-foot pole._ I remained silent.

Lester reacted to my lack of response with a self-satisfied grin, but then with a confounded shake of his head continued, "I love my cousin, but sometimes he can be such a prick." I watched as a slow smile spread across Les' face. "Thank God, he's _pretty_."

"Excuse me?" I said.

"That's what the Brazilian said. Ranger is almost as pretty as Steph. He thought it might be nice to have _both _of them in his bed."

"Manny's already filed his report?"

"Negative to that. Hector is testing some new equipment, and he has Beautiful wired for sound." The sonuvabitch smirked at me again. "Omega makes a damned fine watch."

I was seriously having second thoughts about sending Ranger to Miami. I deserved a vacation, and Key West was sounding better and better.

"Damn it, Santos. Keep this to yourself for the moment, OK?"

"No worries, Boss," Lester answered. "He'll be pissed off enough when he hears Morelli made an appearance."

"Morelli?" At that moment, Ranger and Bobby appeared at the door of the control room." I thought he was out of town and under cover?" Ranger asked. As Lester had predicted, he didn't sound happy.

"Apparently, he's in Philadelphia. He showed up at the restaurant."

"And?" I interrupted.

"From what I could hear, Beautiful was polite but nothing more. At the end, she dismissed him pretty handily. Morelli was far enough away from the mic that I couldn't make out everything, but he sounded irate. We'll have to talk to Manny."

We stared at the green dot on Lester's screen. I wondered if Morelli's visit had anything to do with Stephanie's current impersonation of Danica Patrick. She was pushing eighty and passing cars like a racecar driver. It was aggressive, even for I-95. I watched Ranger edge closer to the monitors, his eyes fixed on Steph's GPS signal.

There was silence in the control room as we stared at the screen. She was still at least 5 minutes out. Finally, Bobby broke the silence.

"So," he addressed Ranger cautiously. "Can we bring anything for dinner tonight?"

"I don't know." Ranger ran his fingers through his hair in a distracted sort of way. "What did Steph say?"

"She usually tells us just to bring our ourselves," Bobby admitted.

"Usually? How often do you have dinner with her?

"Well last week, it was Sunday, Tuesday and Friday."

Ranger stared at him, maybe in disbelief.

"Ranger," I said. "She's not having dinner with her parents. All of her friends think she's undercover. We discouraged her from going out too much because of the 'threat.' We're not going to leave her stranded in the apartment on seven by herself. Of course, we're having dinner with her."

"So … " Bobby began again with deliberate enthusiasm. "We could bring some beer, if you want. Unless wine goes better with what you're serving and then we could bring wine."

"I have no idea what we're serving." He seemed to be at a loss. The man who had engineered the overthrow of petty dictators and several military regimes seemed completely undone by dinner. "But I'm sure Steph has taken care of everything."

"Maybe Tank should bring Aristotle again," Lester offered. "Stephanie really enjoyed that last week."

"Aristotle?"

"His kitten," Lester explained, a self-satisfied look on his face. "It made her really happy. I've heard that taking care of a kitten or puppy is good practice for couples who want to have babies."

"No kittens!" Ranger ground out.

"Santos, I hope you don't have any weekend plans for the next month or so." I had given him plenty of warning.

I think we all breathed a collective sigh of relief when the Turbo pulled into the garage. Steph slid out of the car and gave a little finger wave at the camera. She was smiling, but she looked tired. I noticed she rubbed the back of her head a couple of times, as if it was sore. Manny looked pale.

"Let's go to my office to debrief with Stephanie, and once she heads upstairs, we'll get a report from Ramos." I said. We watched as Stephanie and Manny had a brief conversation in front of the elevator. Manny shoulders twitched, and he glanced up at the camera. "Sorry," he mouthed. To everyone's surprise, Little Girl hit the down button on the elevator, heading for the gun range.

As soon as she entered the range, she shrugged off her suit jacket and carefully folded it before placing it on a bench near the back wall. She searched in her handbag for a moment, finally extracting a tube of lipstick and a small mirror. There was complete silence in the control room as we watched Stephanie swipe some color onto her lips and check for smudges in the mirror. She dropped the lipstick back into her purse. Then she removed her Glock from the handbag, took aim and emptied a clip into her target.

I was half way out the door on my way to the range, with Ranger at my heels, when Lester called us back.

"Watch this," he said quietly.

Almost like smoke, Bear had appeared at Stephanie's side.

"Not bad, Mrs. Manoso," he said.

"Call me Stephanie, or Steph if you prefer," she said, almost automatically.

"Is that what the rest of your husband's employees call you?"

Stephanie tilted her head to the side, as if giving his question careful consideration. "No, not always," she admitted. "Tank likes to call me Little Girl. My partner Manny, calls me Wifey. Hector calls me Angel, and Bobby usually calls me Bomber. A lot of the guys call me Bombshell."

"Don't forget Beautiful," Lester said to the monitor.

The edges of Bear's mouth quirked up, like he was thinking about smiling.

"You might have heard about some trouble that involved some of my cars," Steph said by way of explanation.

"Ah, yes, the cars," Bear answered. Now he looked like he was trying very hard not to smile.

He turned his attention to her paper target. One shot to the forehead, one to the chest, three to the abdomen and two to the groin.

"Not bad," he said again. "But not your best."

"At least two of those shots would have killed him instantly." Steph was starting to sound defensive.

"True," Bear said. "But which of these was your first shot? If your first hit his abdomen, he would have had time to get off a shot that could have killed _you_."

"Point taken." She rubbed the back of her neck wearily. I noticed that Bobby was starting to look concerned.

"You shot Jimmy Alpha five times in the heart."

"You know about that." Her voice was flat.

"I make it a point to know the people I work with." He glanced at her left hand, his eyes lingering for a moment on her naked ring finger. "Or in this case, the people that I work for."

Little Girl managed a weak smile. "Ha! You didn't know we were married, did you? I guess our plan to keep that under wraps is working."

Bear didn't answer. He glanced up at the camera and then turned his attention back to Stephanie's target.

"I suppose you could do better," she asked him.

"I'm a pretty good shot, except when I'm angry."

Manny finally arrived in the control room. "She was fine," he said, out of breath. "Something happened when Morelli tried to touch her arm. For just a second, she seemed afraid and not in control."

I saw Ranger stiffen, and I could feel his anger from across the room. "Bastard," muttered Lester, to no one in particular. I was inclined to agree.

"I'm not angry." She was rubbing the back of her neck again. "I … I was just getting rid of some pent up energy. I didn't go to the gym this morning."

Bear was studying Stephanie thoughtfully. "So you came to the range this afternoon." He gave her a moment to respond, and when she didn't, he spoke again. "Look, I find that it's too easy to pull the trigger on a firearm without focusing the mind or the body. I prefer a weapon that forces me to do both." After a moment, he asked her quietly, "Do you want me to show you?"

Stephanie nodded silently at him.

Bear walked over to the bench where Stephanie had placed her jacket and when he turned back to face her, she burst into laughter. "You really _are _one of the Merry Men! You're going to teach me to shoot a bow and arrow?"

"Archery is the national pastime in Mongolia. Practically everybody learns … boys and girls." He held the bow out to her. "This recurve bow is a lot like the one I learned to use growing up, just a bit nicer. It has a range of 80 meters."

"On a really good day, eighty-two and a quarter meters," Ranger muttered under his breath.

Bear showed Stephanie how to hold the bow in her left hand while setting the arrow in place with her right. He demonstrated how far to draw back with the right hand before she released the arrow.

Stephanie seemed to listen to him intently and then indicated her willingness to practice. With her first attempt, the arrow tumbled out of the bow, landing a few feet from where she stood. Bear smiled at her encouragingly and handed her another arrow. He second shot was better, but flew to the left of the target.

"Don't aim," he said gently. "Just focus on the target."

He glanced up the camera again, silently asking permission. I don't think I imagined Ranger giving an almost imperceptible nod toward the monitor.

After a moment, Bear stood behind Stephanie and wrapped his arms around her. His left hand closed gently over her left on the grip of the bow, while his right grasped her right, exerting steady backwards pressure on the string.

He whispered something inaudible to Stephanie. She nodded and adjusted her stance. Suddenly the arrow flew forward. After a moment, both Bear and Stephanie smiled. The arrow had pierced the heart of the target.

We rang the doorbell on seven precisely at 1900. Stephanie gushed over the flowers that Bobby had brought. He had opted for tulips in lieu of wine or beer. She greeted each of us —Bobby, Bear, Lester and I— with a hug. When she got to Lester, he planted a sloppy kiss on her lips. "Now that we're cousins, we might as well be kissing cousins," he drawled at her.

"Behave," she admonished him, swatting the back of his head playfully. "My jealous husband is back in town, and you know he carries a gun." She paused for a moment. "I bet he'll forgive you if you help him mix the mojitos. We have Negro Modelo if you prefer, but Ella made ropa vieja for dinner, and I thought mojitos would be festive."

I felt rather than heard Ranger sigh from the direction of the kitchen. Dressed uncharacteristically in black jeans and a charcoal gray cashmere sweater, he was a holding a tray of empanadas fresh from the oven.

_Hello, Domesticated Ranger,_ I thought. Last night, I had told Ranger that Stephanie had morphed into everything she thought his wife would need to be. It would be interesting to see if Ranger could become, at least for a little while, everything Stephanie Manoso's husband needed to be.

Throughout drinks, appetizers and dinner, Stephanie tried to keep the conversation light, steering clear of topics related to work. I also noticed that she had stayed in nearly constant physical contact with Ranger. Finally, he had started to relax.

She was next to him on the couch, her hand on his knee, when she announced that it was time for dessert.

"None for me, Babe," Ranger said.

"You may change your mind," she told him.

Little Girl grabbed a plate from the breakfast bar in the kitchen and placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch. Lester's eyes widened in surprise

"Torticas de Maron," said Lester. He turned to Bear and Bobby to explain. "They're like Cuban shortbread cookies flavored with lime. They were my favorite when I was growing up… Ranger's, too. Our abuela made them for us. We used to fight over them."

_And everything else_, I added silently.

Ranger had a look on his face that I couldn't decipher. He pulled Stephanie onto his lap and nuzzled her neck. "How did you know, Babe?"

When Stephanie offered him a cookie, he took a bite without argument.

"Celia mentioned something about cookies when we were having lunch last week. I just asked Ella if she knew how to make them." As if she was anticipating a negative reaction at Celia's name, Little Girl leaned back and kissed away a tiny cookie crumb at the edge of Ranger's mouth. As she shifted on his lap, she pressed her left hip gently into his crotch. The resulting reaction was anything but negative.

Now Ranger had been tortured on more than one occasion in the past. He'd never broken. I wondered, though, how long he was going to able to resist the charms of the lovely Stephanie Manoso.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Are these chocolate cookies Cuban, too?" he asked. He pointed to what looked meringues sandwiched around a chocolate filling and glazed with even more chocolate.

"No," Bear spoke up. I could hear the wonder in this voice. "They're choklad biskvier. Swedish Christmas cookies. My grandma made them every December for me." He turned to Stephanie. "How did you know?"

"I make it a point to know the people I work with," she told him, grinning.

It was after eleven when we stood at the door, saying our goodbyes. Stephanie and Ranger were standing as they had in my office last night, her back to his front, his arms wrapped around her waist. For the moment, they both looked at ease … and happy.

"This was really fun," Lester told Stephanie quietly. "Thanks for inviting us for dinner again. Should we continue the Cuban theme on Friday? I know a great little Cuban place in Newark."

Stephanie glanced up over her shoulder at Ranger, waiting for his assent. Lester cleared his voice. "Of course, we'll take the appropriate security measures," he said. "I was just thinking we could do something a little different since Ranger and Bear have to be in Washington."

Stephanie stiffened slightly, and for just a moment, a disconcerted frown crossed her face.

_Damn Lester._ Ranger apparently hadn't told Stephanie that he had to leave again in a little less than 48 hours. Regaining her composure, Stephanie shot Lester a wicked grin. "I'd like that," she said. "Cuban for dinner is my favorite."

_**Ranger's POV**_

"Get ready for bed," I told Stephanie. "I'll clean up."

It didn't take me long to rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, but when I made it to the bedroom, she was asleep. Tonight, she didn't join me in the shower.

As I moved to spoon around her, she turned, so we were face to face in the darkness.

"How long do you think you'll be in Washington?" she asked quietly.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I should have told you."

"You should have told me," she agreed. "I know you need to do your job, and I'm not complaining about that. I just wish I would have heard from you and not Lester that you need to leave again so soon."

"Day after tomorrow," I told her. "Hopefully, just for three days. The … my contacts in Washington are pretty upset that I came home to Trenton instead of going straight to DC for the debriefing. It's likely to be painful." I paused for a moment. "You were upset, but you didn't call me out on it in front of the guys."

Stephanie laid her head on my chest, her ear over my heart. Suddenly, I became very aware of my own heartbeat … slow, steady. As she listened, she relaxed in my arms. "Did you really expect me to do that?" she asked. "All those ideas you used to have about why you could never have a wife … is this one that you've held on to?"

"No, of course not. I mean, I don't think so." _Hell, I don't know._

"Why did you come straight home, instead of finishing the debriefing? Did you feel obligated, because we're married, and now you're frustrated that it's causing such a problem?"

_This question was easier_. _Way easier._ I tucked my chin and kissed the top of her head. "Babe," I said. "I was gone for four months when I should have been gone two weeks. I came home because I missed you." _That was the God's honest truth._ "I don't care what problems it causes. I pay Jack well to fix problems like this. We spent most of the day meeting about my government contract. It's almost up for renewal anyway."

"Jack? The RangeMan attorney? He's the one who can get them to remove that clause?"

Suddenly I remembered how Tank had structured this covert op. _Stephanie believes that a clause in your government contract prohibits you from getting married_.

Stephanie wrapped one of her legs around my mine, pressing my unrelenting erection between us. Apparently, even when Stephanie Manoso was angry, she didn't feel the need to wear pajamas to bed. I could feel the wetness of her center on my thigh. _Christ, she wasn't making this easy._

"So maybe we can get our rings out of the safe soon?" she murmured against my lips.

"Babe," I kissed her back. _What the hell do you know about the rings in the safe? I thought the only one who knew about those was a certain jeweler in Geneva._

Instead of answering, I rolled her in our favorite position for sleeping. We were both on our sides, her back to my front. I wrapped an arm around her, just under her breasts, but I tried to keep a tiny bit of space between us. Steph was having none of it. She wiggled backwards until my cock was pressed firmly against the cleft of her ass. Suddenly I wondered if Stephanie Manoso had the same sexual inhibitions about butt stuff that Stephanie Plum did.

"I never got a chance to ask you about your day," I said, gently licking the shell of her ear.

"The meeting with the client went well." She moaned a little as I moved to her neck.

"Padhila didn't give you any trouble?"

"He flirted a little, but nothing I couldn't handle." She hesitated. "Do you remember Joe Morelli … from Trenton PD?"

"Of course," I said cautiously. "He was your first skip."

"The first case you and I worked together," she added. "I ran into him at the restaurant today. Apparently he's been working away from Trenton for a while." She was very still in my arms. "He seems to have some sort of issue with me, even though I helped him clear his name."

"We can talk to Chief Juniak tomorrow, if you want. Just to make sure he doesn't bother you," I offered.

"I like that idea." Now she sounded very sleepy and was completely relaxed in my arms. Thankfully, the wiggling had stopped.

Moments before I fell asleep, she spoke again. "Carlos," she asked. "What would make you think that I have any sexual inhibitions with you?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: JE owns nearly all of these characters. I'm just having fun.**

**A/N: I continue to be very grateful to latetolove for her patience, her encouragement and her superb editing skills. She took time away from her own projects to help me with this story. **

**Big hugs to Margaret Fowler who pointed me in the right direction.**

_Chapter 8_

Ranger's POV

I asked Connie to meet me at the diner where she had first arranged for me to meet Stephanie. She arrived 10 minutes early, but I was already there, seated in the booth that abutted the back wall and had a clear view of the door. Connie slid across the red leatherette bench seat opposite me, tugging on her black and white polka dot skirt so it didn't ride up indecently. Indecent was a relative term in the Burg.

"Hey, Ranger. When did you get home?" she greeted me.

"Night before last."

She gave me an appraising look. "You still in one piece?"

I shrugged. "Mostly. I still have all of the important parts." Connie blushed but still managed to give me an eye roll.

"RangeMan still taking Stephanie's skips?"

"For now."

Connie slid three files across the table to me.

She chewed nervously on her lower lip. "She's not undercover, is she, Ranger?"

"Tell me what happened after I left."

She sighed. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

With Connie, information was currency. She didn't like to give any away without getting something in return. For now, though, she was just going to have to let me run a tab. I didn't want her recollection of events to be biased, sorted and filtered by what she thought might have turned Stephanie Plum into Stephanie Manoso. It was going to take some skillful persuasion to extract information from Connie while giving her little of substance in return. Fortunately, I was trained in persuasive tactics.

So I flashed her a 200-watt smile and placed my hand over hers on the table between us. "Connie, please tell me what happened after I left."

"Damn, Ranger. That's not fighting fair." She extracted her hand from mine and fanned herself with one of the files. "There's really not much to tell. No one firebombed her apartment or blew up her car. No crazy stalkers, unless you count Horace."

"Horace?"

"Horace Smith, aged 37. A balding podiatrist who has an office in the strip mall on Liberty."

"He was a skip?" _Damn, Connie was making me work for this._

Connie smirked. "Horace was a blind date."

Blank face firmly in place, or so I thought, I repeated, "Blind date? Stephanie went on a blind date?"

Connie giggled. "I saw that. Your reaction time with the 'nothing ever bothers me' face was a little slow. Was that a little flash of jealousy? You don't like the idea of Stephanie on a date with another man, do you?"

Suddenly, I wished I was back in Kazakhstan, Trapped in a godforsaken yurt by a friggin' blizzard. No way out until the spring thaw.

"Just tell me about Horace," I said as impassively as I could.

Connie relaxed and dumped a packet of Splenda into her black coffee and stirred. "It was really an accidental blind date as far as Steph was concerned. Val and Albert invited her out to dinner and this guy was there. He and Albert were on the same Frisbee team in college."

"Frisbee is a team sport?"

Connie sipped at her hot coffee and gave a world class eye roll. "I know, right?"

"So anyway, Steph managed to excuse herself from dinner before dessert. She told this guy she was diabetic, and she couldn't even stand to be around sugar. She said she had to go home and take her insulin."

I felt my lips quirk up in an almost smile. My Babe never failed to disappoint. "So Horace couldn't read between the lines?"

"Absolutely not. The next day, he sent a dozen roses to the bonds office with a note telling her that she had beautiful toes and he wanted to spend more time with them."

"Was that the end of it?"

"Nope. Two days later, there was a box of diabetic chocolates and an invitation written in fancy calligraphy to stop by his office for a foot massage." Connie grimaced, like she had a bad taste in her mouth. "For the record, diabetic chocolates are disgusting."

"So did the guys get involved and shut him down?"

"Uh,_ no_." Connie was laughing now. "Nothing like that. Steph took care of it just fine on her own … at least she did with a little help from Lula."

I raised one eyebrow at Connie and waited for her to continue. The key was to get her to start talking. Once she did, she didn't stop.

"Steph sent Lula over to Horace's office with the invitation. Lula explained to Horace that she was Stephanie's girlfriend and they share everything. According to Lula, an invitation to Stephanie was exactly the same as an invitation to her, and she was more than ready for a foot massage!"

"I'm guessing that Lula got her massage and the Horace got the message."

"Damn straight!" Connie agreed.

"How did Morelli react to her blind date?"

Connie suddenly looked more serious. "Joe hasn't been around much. A few days after you left, Steph put the brakes on, telling him that she needed some space to figure out what she wanted to do with her life."

"How'd Morelli do with that?"

Connie shrugged. "Hard to say."

"They fight about something?"

Just then, the waitress appeared with our order. Egg white omelette for me and blueberry pancakes for Connie. Connie poured syrup over her pancakes and took a bite before she answered me.

"Don't know. If they did, it wasn't a public show." Pino's had hosted its fair share of _Plum vs. Morelli_.

I quirked an eyebrow at Connie, urging her to continue.

"Look, I couldn't really get anything out of her and neither could Lula. A couple nights after you left, they went to Rossini's for dinner—"

"Rossini's?" I interrupted. "That's not exactly Morelli's style."

"Nope," Connie agreed. "It's not. But he had the rib eye and Steph had her usual Fettuccini Alfredo with sausage. They shared a bottle of wine, and they got dessert to go."

"To go?"

"I'm guessing they went back to Morelli's, but I don't think Steph spent the night. She just didn't have the look to her the next day-" Connie broke off suddenly.

"It's OK, Connie." I said. "I know the look you're talking about." I had seen that look on her face plenty of times when she was living with Morelli. _Hell, I had put that look on her face a few times myself. _I felt oddly relieved that she apparently hadn't slept with Morelli that night.

"That's all I can tell you," Connie said. "Like I said, she said she told him she needed some space and then, as far as I know, she really didn't see him except in passing when she dropped off a skip."

"Tell me about the last skip she brought in," I encouraged Connie.

Connie hesitated and toyed with a piece of pancake, dragging it back and forth in the syrup that had pooled on the plate. "Ranger, you know that I do my best to make sure she and Lula don't get in over their heads."

I nodded.

She reached into the red patent leather brief case that matched her shoes and pulled out another file. "Karl Risen. Arrested for beating his wife's car with a tire iron after she told him she wanted a divorce." Connie paused. "Prior to his arrest, he had steady employment and no priors. Specifically, there were no domestic complaints." She twisted her hands in her lap. "You know I would never knowingly send Steph into a dangerous situation, right?"

"Connie." _We both know dangerous situations find Stephanie_. "Just tell me what happened that day."

"It had been a slow month for bonds in her range. The usual players … Dougie for selling counterfeit purses, Eula for vagrancy. I let Tank know she could probably use some office work but asked him not to let on that I had called. Anyway, Steph showed up at the office around 9:00. I remember teasing her about being early-"

I raised one eyebrow at Connie. Again.

"Early for Steph," Connie clarified. "She had even stopped at the Tasty Pastry and picked up a dozen doughnuts." Connie tapped her fingernails on the table nervously.

"Go on," I urged her. I tried to sound encouraging rather than impatient, but I'm not sure I was very successful.

"So the skip's last known address was the home he shared with his wife. Steph didn't think he would be there, of course, but she thought it might be worthwhile to swing by and talk with Mrs. Risen. But according to Lula, they went into apprehension mode when they saw the skip's car parked on the street in front of the house. Lula said Steph knocked on the front door while she went to cover the back." Connie closed her eyes, as if trying to remember every detail. "Apparently, Karl decided this time he would use the tire iron on his wife. The front door wasn't locked, and so when Steph heard the wife crying for help, she entered the house."

"Did the skip try to hurt her, too?" I interrupted.

"No, thank goodness. He tried to take off through the back door, and Lula stunned him." Connie paused. "Steph did CPR on the wife. She was hurt pretty badly … multiple broken bones, including a broken rib that punctured a lung. Eddie Gazarra said Steph saved her life," Connie finished quietly.

"Connie," I said. "Anyone would be traumatized by seeing that sort of abuse. How did Stephanie cope?"

"She was pretty shaken up," Connie admitted. "If it hadn't been January, I think she would have taken off for Point Pleasant. Instead, she told me that she was going to spend the rest of the week doing searches from her nice, quiet cubical at RangeMan. I haven't seen her since."

"Has Steph ever been the victim of domestic violence? Was that a factor in her relationship with Orr?"

"Not to my knowledge," Connie said. "From what I remember, Steph and the Dick turned divorce into a spectator sport. It's widely believed that Steph's airing of her husband's dirty laundry ruined any chance he had of a career in politics. Hard to believe that if abuse occurred, it wouldn't have made it into the divorce petition."

I nodded._ Hell, Steph hadn't just aired Orr's dirty laundry. I heard that she'd piled it in their front yard and started a bonfire with it, along with the remnants of the infamous dining room table. _"I'll check if out anyway," I replied.

"Joe?" asked Connie tentatively. "I mean he's always seemed like a good cop and a decent man but he has a scary family history. He grew up watching his dad beat on his mom."

I felt my gut twist as I remembered the sadness in my Babe's eyes as I sent her back to Morelli. I was convinced that she was safer with him. The thought that I had sent her back to someone who had hurt her was too much to contemplate.

"Did she ever hint that Morelli was physically abusive, Connie?"

Connie thought for a moment. "No, nothing like that. But you know they both have Italian tempers, and their fights were legendary around the Burg. They fought about her job, they fought about Grandma Bella, they fought about Joe's undercover work with Terri Gillman, they fought about …." Connie trailed off uncertainly.

"Say it, Connie."

"They fought about you and her work at RangeMan," she finally said. "Joe knew about the alley."

_He hurt her, and it was all my fault. _

As I threw some bills on the table to pay for our breakfast, my phone rang. "I hope you're headed back to Haywood," Tank said tersely.

"Problem?" I asked.

"Problems. Morelli's in the first floor conference room and he's ready for a fight. Celia's in Steph's office, and she's not happy."

"Babe has an office?"

Tank sighed. "Yeah, man. Stephanie Manoso has an office. We converted the secure conference room at the end of the hall. It was the best I could do on short notice."

"I'm on my way."

"Ranger, " Tank sounded uncertain. "That's not all. Rodriguez is waiting for you in your office."

_That can't be good_, I thought.

"Nah, man," said Tank. "No way at all this can be good."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: JE owns nearly all of these characters. I'm just having fun**.**

_Special thanks to Margaret Fowler who sent this story in an unexpected direction._

_With every chapter, I am increasingly grateful to latetolove for her patience, her excellent beta skills and for her willingness to help me with this story, even when she was busy with projects of her own. Any mistakes are mine._

_Hugs to everyone who sent a review or PM. I'll post another chapter tomorrow so you don't have to wonder about Rodriguez over the weekend._

**Chapter NINE**

_**Ranger's POV**_

Morelli was pacing the length of the conference room when I arrived.

"What the fuck is going on, Manoso?" he demanded.

"I was hoping you could tell _me_ that, Detective Morelli," I said coldly.

"What was she doing in Philadelphia yesterday?"

"I wasn't there, but from all accounts, she was doing her job."

"Since when does a bounty hunter wear a designer suit and drive a Porsche?"

_Asshole. I'm a bounty hunter who wears a designer suit and drives a Porsche_. "Are you concerned about what all of my employees wear, or Stephanie in particular?"

"Your employee? So what exactly are you paying her to do?" he asked with a sneer.

_If you hit him now, you'll never get the information that you need to help Stephanie,_ a little voice inside told me. Still, the urge to punch Morelli was strong.

"No one disrespects Stephanie in this building," I told him. _From now on,_ _no one disrespects Stephanie outside this building either. That's gone on long enough._

Morelli managed to get his 'cop face' back on before he continued. "Her cell phone has been disconnected, and she obviously isn't living in her apartment."

"I assume you had a warrant to enter her apartment. I would hate to think that an officer of the law would resort to breaking and entering."

"_You_, of all people, are accusing me of breaking and entering." He looked at me incredulously. "Where is she, Manoso?"

"Did she not share her contact information with you when you two chatted yesterday? I was under the impression that she gave you a business card?"

"She told me to contact her through the switchboard at RangeMan. She's living here, isn't she? She's living with _you_."

"That's a logical deduction, Detective Morelli," I spat back at him. "She's come here before when she's needed a safe place."

"So she has another crazy stalker," he muttered.

"You've escalated from abusive ex-boyfriend to crazy stalker?" I asked him. "I'll be sure that's included in the restraining order when I talk to Chief Juniak later today."

He gaped at me for a moment, flushed with anger. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"After Rossini's, was that the first time you hit her? Or has this been going on for a long time?" I took a step toward him. I was perfectly willing to extract the truth from Joe Morelli if he wouldn't offer it voluntarily.

"You think I hurt her the night we had dinner at Rossini's? Honestly?"

I watched as most of the anger drained from his face. He ran his fingers through his hair and stared at me, perplexed.

"After dinner, I asked her to marry me." He paused and looked at me pointedly "She said no."

_Thank God_, I thought. "Why do you think she said that?" I persisted. "She's afraid of you."

"For God's sake, Manoso. I yell when I get angry. I wave my arms. That night, I slammed my coffee cup on the kitchen counter, and it broke, but I'm not my father. I would never touch her in anger." His voice faltered for a moment. "I thought everything was going so well between us. That's why I bought a ring and made the reservation at Rossini's. Then you leave town, and suddenly she tells me that she loves me, but she's not _in love_ with me."

He stared at me, and neither of us spoke for almost a minute.

"Why?" he said, echoing my prior thought. " Why do you think she would say that?"

Celia was seated behind Stephanie's desk.

She swiveled sharply in the leather chair when I entered the office and her eyes flashed with anger when she picked up a 5 x7 silver frame from Stephanie's desk and turned it to show me a photo. There were palm trees in the background, along with a brilliant blue sky and an aquamarine sea. I noticed that Stephanie's eyes were almost exactly the same color as the sky. We were both facing the camera, smiling, but Stephanie was positioned so that her body was turned in toward mine. Her right arm was around my waist and her left hand was positioned on my chest, just over my heart. Her left hand was clearly visible in the photo. Five perfectly manicured fingernails, painted "Hibiscus Red" to match her dress. On the fourth finger of her left hand, she wore a sparkling, two-carat diamond solitaire and a matching platinum wedding band.

"So, hermano, do you want to explain this?"

"We were in Hawaii," I said simply.

"Yes, I can see that," Celia said. "Julio and I spent _our_ honeymoon in Hawaii. It's a lovely choice."

"It wasn't like that."

She raised one eyebrow, waiting for me to explain.

"We were undercover. We had a job to do."

"I see. And how long did this job last?"

"Almost two weeks.

"You both look very happy. Can I assume this did not involve all work and no play?"

I stared at my sister, trying to calm myself before I spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she persisted.

"I didn't think it was important … and I knew you wouldn't understand."

"So explain it to me now."

"Stephanie and I are friends and co-workers— "

"You said that you never mislead her about your intentions. Just like you never misled Rachel.

"Celia, don't," I warned.

"But—"

"I said 'don't', and I meant it." This talk was long overdue. "You were the one who misled Rachel."

Tank, Lester, Bobby and I were on a 48-hour leave in Miami when I met Rachel. I was the last one to arrive at the South Beach bar that night. She was sitting at a table flirting with Lester … but at the end of the night, she left with me.

Rachel had just broken up with her longtime boyfriend. More specifically, he had dumped her for her best friend. Rachel was looking for some "prove to me that I am still desirable" sex. I was just looking for sex.

We spent the remainder of the weekend together and at the end, I honestly never expected to see her again. We had both been clear about our expectations. I was shocked when she contacted me and told me that she was pregnant.

I believe a woman has the right to make decisions about what happens to her own body, but I've always felt uneasy about abortion. I guess it's the one part of my Catholic upbringing that stuck. I didn't disagree when she said she wanted to have the baby. We both agreed that adoption was the best choice. We'd get through this, make some childless couple deliriously happy and then get back to our normal lives.

We got married so that Rachel would have health insurance. It was also the easiest way for me to provide for her financially until the baby was born. She met me in Norfolk the weekend before I shipped out for a long deployment in the Middle East, and we were married by a justice of the peace. We didn't leave our hotel for the next 24 hours. Rachel was 11 weeks pregnant, and she had terrible morning sickness … along with afternoon sickness … and evening sickness. She vomited the whole time. As I recall, I tried to be helpful, holding her long blond hair back from her face when she bent over the toilet. I don't think she appreciated it much, though. After all, who wants to be around someone you barely know when you're puking your guts out?

_Things will get better after the first trimester,_ her doctor had said. But they hadn't … five weeks later, Rachel was still vomiting. She reached me by satellite phone as I was headed into Qatar on an undercover assignment. She sounded scared.

In retrospect, I made a poor choice. As Tank had said, there are always options. At the time though, I went with the first rational thought that popped into my mind. I called my sister, the doctor. Admittedly, she was a neurology physician-in-training and not an obstetrician, but it seemed close enough at the time.

Once Celia got over the shock of me having a pregnant wife that I had hidden from the family, she taught me all about hyperemesis gravidarum … unrelenting vomiting related to increased amounts of certain hormones during pregnancy.

So I went off to Qatar and Rachel went to the specialist that Celia recommended. He prescribed intravenous fluids and an anti-nausea medicine. As for Celia, she went to Miami.

I never expected that Celia would track down Rachel and befriend her. She took her shopping for maternity clothes and flew her to Newark to meet my parents. Some how, she managed to be with Rachel when Julie was born … no small feat given her work schedule at the time.

I admit, I was a little surprised that I never received adoption papers nor divorce papers to sign but the mail service can be sketchy in the Arabian Desert. Still, I didn't expect to return home and find that I had a wife and three month old baby waiting for me.

"She loved you," Celia said.

"No," I replied firmly. "She fell in love with the idea of being a wife and mother. She loved the idea of me that you planted in her head. She didn't know _me."_

At 20, I was a newly minted Ranger and old enough to die for my county. Of course, I was young enough to think that wouldn't actually happen … I was invincible. I was way too young to be a husband and father. I proceeded with the divorce as planned, making arrangements for a large part of my monthly paycheck to go to Rachel for child support. After a couple of months, she started to distance herself from Celia and the rest of my family, and once she met and married Ron, she cut off contact entirely. My sister was heartbroken.

"You never would have known Julie," Celia said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

"Julie never would have been kidnapped by Scrog," I replied softly.

"It might have been different. You didn't even try with Rachel," she said.

"We love who we love, Celia," I said with a shrug.

My sister looked at me thoughtfully. "I think that's true," she said. "But maybe this time, you were the one who was misled. I think that no matter how hard you try, you can't stop loving Stephanie Plum."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: JE owns nearly all of these characters. I'm just having fun**.**

_Remember latetolove's Merry Men bios? They inspired me to have some fun with Rodriguez. Have I mentioned that latetolove is the best beta ever? Any and all mistakes are mine._

_This chapter is for Margaret Fowler. Margaret, this is what you asked me for … sort of. Hope you are pleasantly surprised._

**Chapter TEN**

_**Ranger's POV**_

Rodriguez stood stiffly in front of my desk, back to the door, facing my empty chair.

I circled around the desk.

"Rodriguez, what are you doing here?"

"Ranger," Rodriguez returned my greeting. "I'm here to offer my sincere apologies along with my resignation."

"And why would you do that?"

"I broke a rule, maybe the most important rule. I hurt Stephanie."

"Rodriguez, you don't have an office in this building, and as far as I know you've never even met Stephanie."

"Of course, I didn't mean to hurt her, but it was my fault nonetheless."

I looked at Rodriguez and sighed. I remember when I never sighed.

"Explain." My voice sounded weary, even to my own ears.

Rodriguez sounded tentative. "You know that Tank arranged for Stephanie to spend more time at RangeMan doing searches?"

I nodded so Rodriguez would continue.

"In order to have access to some of our more secure databases, Stephanie needed a security clearance. I was supposed to take care of the paperwork to make this happen." Rodriguez took a breath and paused a moment. "I needed an official copy of Stephanie's birth certificate, but we only had a copy in her personnel file. Stephanie had to sign a form so we could request a copy from the Vital Statistics office but …"

I gestured, perhaps a little impatiently, for Rodriguez to finish the sentence.

"They sent two birth certificates …"

"Two copies?" I clarified.

"No. Two birth certificates. An original and a second that was completed after the adoption."

"Stephanie's adopted? She never mentioned that."

"She couldn't have, because she didn't know," said Rodriguez sadly. The original birth record was sealed. There was a new clerk in Vital Statistics, and she apparently didn't understand the process because she sent both."

"Do you think she looked at them?"

" I know she looked at them. I pulled her search history for the last three weeks, and I found this." Rodriguez handed me several sheets of paper. "I am so sorry."

When I saw the tears start to fall, I didn't think. I just walked around my desk and pulled Rodriguez into my arms.

"Don't cry," I murmured as I stroked her long, dark hair. "It's not your fault."

For nearly a minute, we stood like that. Then I heard a voice. It arose from the general vicinity of the doorway, and it was filled with surprise … and hurt.

"Carlos," Stephanie said. "What is going on?"

I spun Rodriguez around. Keeping one arm firmly around her shoulders, I reached out my other arm, as if to pull Stephanie into our embrace. "Babe," I said. "I want you to meet my cousin, Selena Rodriguez."

"Rodriguez?" she exclaimed. The puzzled look on her face quickly resolved into understanding. "You're _the_ Rodriguez?" Stephanie's face lit up with a brilliant smile. "I was beginning to think you weren't a real person!"

Selena smiled back, at least the right side of her face did. The left side didn't move much given the scars and the skin grafts that stretched from her forehead down onto her neck. The daughter of my mother's brother and his wife, Selena had grown up down the street from me in Newark. Despite the fact that she was five years younger, we had always been fast friends. I remember the day my aunt and uncle had brought baby Selena home from the hospital. My uncle had motioned for me to climb into the wingback chair near the fireplace in my grandparents' living room, and he had placed the pink bundle that was Selena into my arms. After a minute, the bundle had started to wail pitifully.

"Why is she sad, Tio?" I had asked my uncle.

"She is and will always be an only child," Tio Raoul had answered me solemnly. "It is lonely not to have brothers and sisters, and that makes her sad."

"I can be her big brother," I had promised my uncle. "I'll play with her, and I'll love her, and I'll always take care of her."

For the next 25 years, I tried to keep the promise I had made as a kindergartner.

I was in Pakistan when the accident happened, my last deployment as a Ranger. It was the summer Selena turned 20. She and her boyfriend had been headed to Point Pleasant for a picnic. They were hit head-on by a drunk driver, and for reasons that weren't entirely clear, the car had burst into flames. The boyfriend died at the scene. Selena had survived, but just barely. The crush injury to her right leg had been too severe to repair; the doctors had amputated below the knee. Her left arm and hand, as well as her face and chest, had been severely burned. She had spent three months in the burn unit and nearly six months in a rehab hospital. She regained a bit of mobility in her left arm, but the scars on her hand kept her fingers curled into a half-open fist. She had learned to walk again with the help of a prosthesis. Most importantly, she had learned to smile again.

In the midst of her recovery, I had returned home and started RangeMan. As soon as she was able, Selena came to work for me.

"I work offsite," Selena explained to Stephanie. "This is only the second time I've ever been in this building."

"But the IN boxes," Stephanie sputtered. "They're always full no matter how hard we work. How do you _do _that?"

"I send them over by courier. I can see nearly everyone's desk on the monitors and when someone is getting low, Harry from Accounting distributes files for me."

"I always knew Harry was a sneaky bastard," Steph said matter-of-factly, shooting a pointed glance in my direction. "But I still don't understand why you have your office in a different building."

Selena sighed. "Look at me. There is no way I could fit in here. Everyone who works here is beautiful and … perfect." Selena gave a little shrug and looked resigned. "I'm neither of those. Best that I stay of sight."

Stephanie gave Selena perplexed look. "You know me, right? Well, you don't exactly know me, but you probably know _of _me." Her eyes squeezed closed for a second and she looked for a minute like she was in pain. She seemed to collect herself, though, and she continued. "Historically, I've been a magnet for disaster. Until lately, my job entailed rolling in garbage almost daily. So many of my cars have blown up, I've lost count. Surely you heard about the Boxster and the garbage truck?"

Selena nodded shyly. The Boxster story was legendary at RangeMan. Unfortunately, it was also a favorite at Manoso family holiday gatherings. _So, Carlos, whatever happed to the girl who destroyed the Boxster? Did you forgive her? Is that why you never bring her to dinner?_

"So I guess I don't fit in here either. I'm far from perfect." Steph paused and looked at Selena thoughtfully. "Of course, I totally get what you mean about all of them being beautiful. I usually feel like the ugly step sister around here."

Selena started to protest, but Steph silenced her with a wave of her hand. "So given that, how do you think it made me feel when I came home and found my husband with a gorgeous woman in his arms? I thought I was going to spontaneously combust with jealously."

"Babe," I tried to interrupt her.

"No, seriously, Carlos. If Selena was anyone other than your cousin, I would have to shoot both of you."

Selena stared at Stephanie, open-mouthed. I totally understood her reaction. Sometimes Stephanie Plum Manoso was like a force of nature. You just had to batten down the hatches and wait for the hurricane to pass, hoping you were still standing at the end.

"Fortunately for all of us, I don't have to shoot you," said Stephanie with a grin. "Since you're a cousin to Carlos and Celia, I guess that makes you my cousin too now." Stephanie stepped toward us and pulled Selena into a tight hug. "Celia and I are going to New York day after tomorrow for lunch and shopping. Come with us, and we'll make it a Manoso girl family outing."

As Selena attempted to stammer a response, Stephanie released her and took a half a step back. Her eyes came to rest on the papers on the edge of my desk, the papers that Selena had given me.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I don't feel well. My headache is back—" Then she slumped to the floor before either Selena or I could catch her. One piece of paper fluttered to the floor, coming to rest beside her head.

Boulder, Colorado—_Private funerals were held today for George Edward Foster and his estranged wife Rosemary Mazur Foster. In a presumptive murder-suicide, George Foster shot his wife in their home last Saturday and then shot himself. Mazur- Foster had sought emergency protection from her husband, alleging domestic abuse. Their two week-old daughter will be released to the custody of family members in Trenton, NJ. _


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: JE owns nearly all of these characters. I'm just having fun._

_A/N: Big hugs to Margaret Fowler for her ongoing encouragment._

_I continue to be very grateful to latetolove for her patience and her superb editing skills. I don't know what I would do without her._

_Special thanks to Dog in the Manger for her input into this chapter and for her reassurance as the story draws to a close. Last chapter on Thursday!_

_**Chapter 11**_

_**Rangers POV**_

The bedroom on seven was completely dark. Celia had explained that light sometimes made migraines worse. I lay beside Stephanie on the bed, not touching her. She was right next to me, and yet, she seemed a million miles away.

I knew the moment that she awoke because her breathing changed.

"Ranger, you're home," she said. _Ranger, not Carlos._

"How are you feeling, Babe?"

"We're at Haywood, aren't we? Your sheets are so much nicer than mine. Why am I at your apartment?"

"This is where you wanted to be," I told her carefully. "Do you remember?"

"I …I remember that you've been gone a long time … and that you came to see me before you left this time."

"You were asleep," I said flatly. _No!_ the voice inside my head pleaded. _I meant what I said but I really didn't mean for you to hear it …yet._

"Ha! I knew you came. I just didn't want to let myself believe it. I kept telling myself that it must have been a dream." She waited a moment before she began to recite slowly:

_No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio _

_o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego: _

_te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, _

_secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma._

_Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva _

_dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores, _

_y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo _

_el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra._

_Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde, _

_te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo: _

_así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,_

_sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres, _

_tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía, _

_tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño_

As she finished, I took a deep breath and repeated in English:

I do not love you as if you were a rose made of salt or topaz

or an arrow of carnations spreading fire:

I love you the way certain dark things are loved,

secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you like the plant that never blooms,

but conceals within itself the light of those flowers;

and, thanks to your love, the darkness of my body

houses the suffocating aroma that arose from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, when, or where from;

I love you straightforwardly, with neither problems nor pride:

I love you thus, not knowing how to love you otherwise

than this way whereby neither 'you' nor 'I' exist…

so close that your hand on my chest is mine,

so close that your eyes grow heavy when I tire.

"It's Neruda," I said, as if that explained everything.

"I know it's a poem by the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, Ranger. I know how to translate the words …. I've been taking a Spanish class. I just don't know what they mean."

"A Spanish class? That's what Manny's been helping you with?"

"Ranger," she said. "Don't try to distract me."

"I don't understand how you could remember enough of a poem that I whispered to you, when you were half-asleep, to translate it."

She was silent for a moment and then gave me one word. "Google."

"Babe." _I need more than that._

She sighed and reached out for my hand. "_No te amo como_. I remembered that … you've said that to me before. I Googled it after you left that morning. The first four hits are Sonnet 17 by Neruda. I couldn't be absolutely sure, but the rest of the poem sounded very familiar."

"Google," I repeated in disbelief.

When she answered, her tone was defensive. "If you don't believe me, Google it on your phone now. You'll get the Spanish version and the English translation."

"So why the Spanish class if you had the translation?" I countered.

"You whisper other things to me in Spanish when you think I'm asleep and when we've…. you know, at other times. I want … I need to understand you, Ranger."

Before I could think too much about Manny translating some of the other things that I had said to Stephanie in bed, I felt her move, as if she meant to sit up. I heard a soft hiss as she sank back down on the bed and I wondered if she was experiencing the dizziness that Celia said sometimes accompanied migraines.

"You OK, Babe?" I asked. I longed to be closer to her, but was afraid of making things worse.

She sounded a little out of breath when she responded, "Please, just tell me what the poem means."

I didn't mean to sigh. I just couldn't help myself. "The words mean that I have hopes and desires for the future, Babe, just like any other man."

"After the poem, you said 'algun dia' to me. That means someday, doesn't it?" Her voice was tentative. "You have hopes and desires for some day?"

I nodded in the darkness, unable to speak the words.

"But it's not someday yet… is it?" I heard the subtle inflection at the end of her question. She was holding out some hope that I wasn't going to agree with her. She hadn't let go of my hand and was now lightly tracing random patterns on my palm.

"Not yet," I said sadly.

"I didn't think so," she said in a small voice, pulling her hand away. Her tone was resigned. "If it were someday, you would be holding me right now."

I scooted close to her and carefully wrapped my arms around her.

After a moment of silence, she spoke again. "Ranger, when you whispered to me when you thought I was asleep, you said the word _hijo_. That means son, doesn't it? Were you telling me that you wished you would have a son … someday?" Her head was against my chest, just over my heart.

I buried my face in Steph's hair. "Sometimes, people wish for impossible things, Babe."

"I get that," she said bitterly. "Not that you would ever wish for a child with me, given my genetic background. It's now clear that my fears about having children were well founded. I'm the daughter of a murderer."

I gently rolled Stephanie so that she was facing me, and I brushed a kiss across her lips. "I'm so sorry about your biological parents, Babe. I … I'm sorry that you had to find out the way you did."

"Did you know, Ranger?"

"No," I answered truthfully. "I found out when Selena came to my office today."

"It's OK," she replied. "Actually, it explains a lot. I understand why I never quite felt like I belonged in the Plum household, and why it seemed Helen didn't love me enough. It probably explains all of the trouble that I've had with exploding cars and stalkers ... now I know they're just part of some crazy bad karma that I have." She hesitated for a moment. "It probably explains my sick fascination with Joe Morelli. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose."

I stilled for a moment and pulled her closer. "Did he hurt you, Babe?"

"Physically? No, of course not. But not all mistreatment is physical, Ranger." She took a breath and then exhaled deeply. "I let him make me doubt my self-worth … and that nobody but him could or would ever love me. He tried to make me think I was lucky because he chose me instead of Terri."

I pressed my lips against hers so that it was impossible for her to say another word. I nipped her lower lip and swept my tongue into her mouth.

"It's not true," I said, when we finally broke apart to take a breath.

"What?" she asked me.

"It's not true that no one else could ever love you. I love you. I think I have from the first day I met you."

She didn't say anything, so I continued.

"It's not true that I wouldn't _want _to have a child with you. When I dream of a son, I dream of our son, Babe."

"But you're just not marriage material," she whispered. "I bet you're still carrying two guns and a knife—"

"Babe." I hushed her with another kiss. She was right about the guns and the knife. The other part, I wasn't so sure about anymore.

I kissed her until were both breathless, and I finally felt her relax in my arms. I started to wonder if she had fallen asleep when she spoke again. Her voice was clear and serious; she was very much awake.

"While I remember you leaving, my memory of the last few weeks is a little fuzzy, Ranger. Right now it seems like one long crazy dream. I can't seem to sort out in my head what actually happened and what was part of the dream. I think there was this devastatingly gorgeous Brazilian—"

"Careful, Babe," I interjected. "It's not nice to talk about other men like that when you're nearly naked in _my_ bed."

"Sorry. Real or not real?"

"Real," I answered. "He's a RangeMan client, and you're handling his account. You planned the security for an event that he's having in two weeks at the Philadelphia Museum of Art."

"Hewantedbothofusinhisbed," she mumbled into my chest.

"Never happened," I said firmly. "Never gonna happen."

"Darn," she sighed.

"Hey!" I protested as I swatted her ass playfully. She giggled.

"We had dinner with a Samurai warrior. He was nice … and he likes cookies." She giggled again.

"Bear," I said. "New guy on the Miami team. He's Mongolian, but I guess with the ponytail he could be mistaken for a Samurai. He's here for orientation."

"Your sister, Celia, was my friend."

I tried to answer carefully. "You and Celia have been spending a lot of time together. She started out as your doctor, but I think she now considers you a friend."

"Am I sick?" She sounded worried.

"You've been having headaches." I let my fingers gently stroke the pressure points behind her ears. "Most likely migraines."

"That sounds familiar." After a moment went by, she asked, "Ranger, would it be OK if I stayed here tonight?"

I guess I didn't answer quickly enough because she tried to slide out from under me as she said, "On second thought, you're right. I really should go home."

"Babe, you've been living here. I don't think you should try to move back your apartment in the middle of the night."

"Why?" she said.

I sighed. "Because Rex is already asleep for the night. Because I don't want to have to wake Luis to get the large suitcases out of the storage room on the third floor. Because—" _Because I just got you back, Stephanie Plum._

"Why was I living here?" she clarified.

Celia was standing by on five, and I was tempted to call her. Hell, for the first time in years, I _wanted_ to call my sister … so she could explain this. But the urge to stay there in bed with Stephanie in my arms was even stronger.

"You had a traumatic experience," I began cautiously. "Sometimes when that happens, a person's heart and mind may need a little rest. Some people find comfort in leaving their actual identity behind for a short while and living as someone else." She murmured her understanding against my chest. "In your case, you needed a break from being Stephanie Plum, and so, apparently, you decided to try out living as Stephanie Manoso for a while."

I was prepared for her to be shocked or skeptical or maybe even embarrassed. I wasn't at all prepared for what she said next.

"So how did I do?" she asked quietly.

"Pretty well," I told her. "Tristao Padhila isn't your only client. As the newest member of the core team, you've been managing a select group of accounts—"

"Huh," she said, as if she doubted me.

"If you don't believe me, you can look at the stack of files in your office."

"No way! I have an office?" she asked.

"That's not all. You gave up doughnuts. You exercised everyday."

"Liar," she smacked my chest.

"Honestly. Yesterday morning, you woke me up when you tried to slip out of bed to go to the gym."

"I wonder why I can't remember any of that?" she mused. I could tell immediately when the next thought struck, even before she said it out loud.

"So have we been … you know."

"No, we haven't.

"Why not? Did you not want to?" she asked me hesitantly. I heard the self-doubt in voice and I knew what she was really asking. _Why did you not want __**me**__?_

"Babe," I pulled her closer so she could feel exactly what I wanted.

"So _I_ didn't want to?" Now she sounded curious. "I must have had _really_ bad headaches."

"You wanted to," I told her gently. "It's just that you haven't really been yourself, and I didn't want to take advantage of you." I brushed a kiss across her lips before I added, "Besides, Stephanie Manoso didn't seem to know all of the rules Stephanie Plum has about sex."

I sensed rather than saw her blush in the darkness.

"I guess rule number one didn't really apply," she said. "It wouldn't have been casual sex when I was Stephanie Manoso."

I was contemplating broaching the other rules—no butt stuff and no babies—when she spoke again. "So what do we do now?" she asked quietly.

I wrapped my arms around her a little more tightly and brushed a soft kiss across her lips. "We figure us out together ….just as soon as I get back from DC."

She shifted slightly, and I remembered that she didn't know about the debriefing. I wondered if she was going to be as understanding as Stephanie Manoso.

"Bear and I leave tomorrow night for the debriefing for this last job. Our meetings start at 0700 on Thursday. I'm hoping it won't take longer than three days, but the powers that be are pissed that I insisted on coming home first."

"I've always wanted to go to Washington," she said wistfully. "It's so close, but I've never been. I've always wanted to see the cherry blossoms and the monuments … crawl through the tunnels at the Spy Museum and eat at Ben's Chili Bowl."

"Babe," I said, willing her to understand.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not asking. I know it's not an option."

Tank's words echoed in my head. _There are always options._

"You could go, but I don't want you to." She stiffened and tried to move away from me. "Babe, that's not what I meant. Just listen, alright? Bear and I will be in constant meetings with Homeland Security. But if you really want to, you could go. We could reserve a suite at the Willard for you. Lester or Bobby could go along and take you to eat chili and to visit the Spy Museum. One of them could sit on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial with you and watch the moon rise over the rest of the city." I cleared my throat. "I'm just being selfish. I was hoping that could be me."

She sighed. "Its OK. I guess we'll just put that on the list for 'someday'."

"April," I said suddenly. "There are cherry blossoms in April."

"April's only two months away." Her hand stroked my back gently, under my shirt. "Ranger, I know a million things could happen before then that make it impossible for us to go. But it means a lot that you want to take me."

"Babe," I started. I wanted to promise her that nothing would get in the way of our trip to the nation's capital, but when it came to Stephanie Plum, I had learned to temper hope with a healthy dose of reality. Before I could reassure her that I would do everything in my power to make sure that we made it to Washington, I felt her relax in my arms, and her breathing slowed. As I rolled her onto her side so that I could spoon around her, I let my thumb gently tease her nipples. I had something to say and tonight, I wanted her to be awake so she could really hear it.

"Te amo, Stephanie Plum."


	12. Chapter 12

**JE owns these characters, most of them anyway.**

**A/N: This chapter is for Margaret Fowler, who wanted a HEA. **

**I would have been completely lost without latetolove as a beta/editor and friend.**

**Special thanks to Dog in the Manger for her perspective on this chapter, especially her advice on contracts and NYC restaurants.**

**All mistakes are mine.**

**Hugs to everyone who read along and shared this journey with Ranger, Stephanie and their friends. There could be more adventures, maybe, someday … **

_**Epilogue**_

_**Ranger's POV**_

Three days in DC had turned into five and the last two were all about the contract. I was obligated for three years or 360 days in the field, which ever came first. Technically, there were three months left on the contract, but this FUBAR mission pushed me to 390 days in the field. I was free and clear unless I signed another contract, something Jack strongly advised against given the offer on the table. In the end, I walked away, leaving the bureaucrats muttering about my patriotism.

"Just how many Purple Hearts do these assholes have between them … even one?" Tank asked when he met me at the airport with the Turbo.

I gave him my trademark shrug. I'd never flaunted the medals before. Didn't plan to start now.

"You know you're the first person they'll call the next time they have an impossible job in Bum-Fuckistan, right?" he asked me. "The real question is, will you be smart enough to tell them no?" I didn't answer him, because honestly, I didn't know.

When I entered the apartment on seven, it was dark … and quiet. Rex was missing from the counter in the kitchen, and there was a pink post-it note in the silver tray by the door. _Call me_! was written in Stephanie's neat cursive.

Stephanie picked up on the first ring. "You're home! How did it go in Washington?"

"You could have stayed," I told her.

"Someday, I will," she said. She might have added _someday soon_, or maybe it was just my wishful thinking.

In retrospect, one of several different responses could have been appropriate_. I understand. I miss you. Please come back._ _I'm on my way to your place_. Almost anything other than what I actually said. Later, I played out a list of excuses in my head. I was tired. I was frustrated. I had a lot of practice in behaving like an ass.

"It's probably just as well," I said into the phone. "Stephanie Manoso wouldn't have been safe in my bed tonight."

"Tank and I sent out the memo about my so-called covert op the day after you left. Everybody knows about my alias and that there's no more Stephanie Manoso," she said sadly. "I'm afraid there's just Stephanie Plum, and she needs to get her life straightened out."

As soon as we disconnected, I shrugged off my suit jacket and my hand was on my belt. I had thought about Stephanie non-stop since I had boarded the plane earlier tonight. Sure, I had returned home to an empty apartment on Haywood plenty of times. But it never occurred to me that she wouldn't be waiting for me tonight. And now I knew what I was missing.

I planned to take a long hot shower to relieve some of the tension that had been building all afternoon, hell, _all week. _Then I was going to pour myself a shot of the Woodford Reserve that I kept for special occasions and try to sleep for at least 8 hours. Hopefully eight hours straight. I hoped to God Ella hadn't changed the sheets so that I could curl up around a pillow that smelled like Stephanie.

I shed the rest of my clothes as I entered the bathroom. Before I had the water temperature adjusted, I felt a tingle at the back of my neck. Stephanie was standing at the door of the bathroom, watching me.

"I thought you were at home," I said.

She was dressed in skinny black jeans and a RangeMan polo shirt, her hair pulled up in a messy bun. She looked tired.

"I was at my apartment, that is, my new apartment." She paused. "Tank offered me the empty unit on four. He didn't like the idea of me driving home by myself when we work as late as we did tonight. Besides, I actually managed to be on time for this morning's meeting when I just had to commute downstairs."

"You were working? Here at RangeMan? Tonight?" I asked blankly.

She nodded. "Tank asked me to continue working all of the same accounts that, um, Stephanie Manoso managed." She paused and looked at me, as if gauging my reaction. I thought she might have also given my naked body an appreciative glance, but that could have been my imagination. "Manny and I are pitching to American Hospital Corporation tomorrow. Last year, there was an infant abduction from one of their hospitals, so they're looking to install a new security system in at least 100 of their hospital nurseries."

AHC was a huge account. But tonight, I didn't want to be distracted with talk about work.

"You didn't have to leave," I persisted. "I expected that you would still be here when I got back."

"Listen," she answered. "I've moved into your apartment a couple of times now. The next time I do it, I want it to be because you actually invited me to move in." She gave me a sultry Stephanie Manoso smile. "But you better be sure, because after I do, I don't plan to _ever _move out again." Then the more hesitant Stephanie Plum added, "I thought, and Tank agreed, that maybe, you could use a little time and space to figure out what you want."

I stalked toward her, leaving the water in the shower running. "I've had plenty of time and space," I said, wrapping my arms around her. "What I want is _you_." _What I want is us, Babe._

The kiss lasted long enough for the bathroom to completely fill with steam. When I finally released her long enough for her to take a breath, she gasped. "Well, I guess we have that settled." Then she got a wicked grin on her face and she rolled her hips against mine, pressing my erection firmly against her stomach. "But clearly I've interrupted something with my unexpected visit. Don't mind me … I'll wait until you finish what you started."

"Babe," I panted. "Don't tease. Please."

She scraped her fingernails lightly down my bare back, letting her hands come to rest on my ass. She squeezed none too gently before sinking down to her knees in front of me, sucking on the skin over my left hip.

"That wasn't teasing. Now this …" she sucked hard enough to leave a bruise. "Might be teasing, but I don't think so."

She said one last thing before I lost all coherent thought. "Welcome home, _Amante_."

Celia wasn't joking when she said that our father had invited most of Newark and half of Miami to Mama's birthday party at the Newark Club. Stephanie and I arrived early so that we could spend a few minutes with my family before the hordes descended.

Antonio had stationed himself at the door, waiting for us. He smiled broadly at Stephanie, kissed her lightly on each cheek and then held her at arms length. "So, Plum. I understand that Tank is lending me his right-hand woman for a few weeks. I'll expect you at morning meeting a week from Monday. Eight sharp. We'll go over your schedule then." He looked at her with mock sternness. "I'll have you know that I run a tight ship at RangeMan Miami. There will _not_ be any doughnuts served at the meeting."

Steph answered him a sassy grin and a flip of her hair. "Sí, Silvio me advirtió que prefieras pastelitos de guayaba del panaderia en Calle Ocho." _Yeah, Silvio warned me that you prefer the guava pastries from the bakery on Eighth Street._

My brother was momentarily speechless. Before he could collect his thoughts to formulate a response, my parents caught sight of us and hurried over. Ignoring me, Mama pulled Stephanie into an effusive embrace. I think Steph had worried about what she was going to say to my mother. She hadn't seen my parents since Scrog had kidnapped Julie. It turned out she couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise, even if she had tried.

"So glad you could come today! That's a stunning dress that you're wearing! You will you come to Easter dinner, won't you?" Mama asked her.

My father settled for a quick hug and murmured a greeting about seeing her in better circumstances this time.

After a few minutes, my parents had to reluctantly excuse themselves to greet their other guests. Now Steph was huddled with Celia and Selena in the corner of the room. Their heads were bent in a conspiratorial fashion. I was too far away to hear their conversation, but Celia was talking animatedly, moving her hands as she spoke, while Steph was nodding her head in agreement.

Watching them, I had to agree with my mother. The sleeveless silk gown Stephanie had chosen for today was stunning … and it was coral instead of the blue she normally wore. Selena was wearing the blue dress today. Steph had kept her lunch date with Celia and they had convinced Selena to come along. Ceviche at Victor's Cafe had given way to dress shopping at Barney's. They had found the perfect dress for Selena with a high neck and long, fitted sleeves that mostly hid her scars.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar shriek. "Stephanie!" A pre-teen version of Celia flew across the room and launched herself at Stephanie.

"Julie!" My Babe could apparently still shriek as well as any pre-teen girl. Clasping Julie's hands tightly, Stephanie allowed my daughter to spin her in circles at the edge of the dance floor.

"I can't believe you and my dad are coming to Miami next week!" Julie exclaimed. "I have something planned for us everyday."

I shot a look at Antonio and hoped he had taken Julie into account when making Steph's schedule. Mine too. If not, to hell with the schedule.

Selena's mouth was open, and she was watching Steph and Julie in amazement. Steph noticed and pulled Selena into their happy dance. Finally, all three of them collapsed on the floor, laughing uncontrollably.

Celia stood nearby, watching. She glanced up at me and smiled. "We love who we love," she mouthed from across the room.

As I looked at the pile of giggling girls on the floor… my girls … I was overcome by an unfamiliar emotion. I wasn't completely sure, but it felt a lot like joy. And I knew, at last, that my sister and I had found something on which we could absolutely agree.


End file.
